#fairy!reader

A fox lay half-hidden beneath a fern, too still, eyes glazed as coins.

Near the creek, a rabbit slumped on its side, fur damp, throat a neat, cruel puncture. No tearing. No waste. Just… drained.

Vampire.

Again.

Your magic rose in your chest like a storm swelling behind your ribs, bright and angry. The vines at your ankles quivered, waking at the pull of your mood. A spray of tiny white blossoms opened along the path you hadn’t stepped on yet, as if the forest was holding its breath—waiting to see what you would do.

“Princess,” a voice said behind you, tight as a bowstring. “Please—”

You turned.

Lysa, one of the elder court’s spokesfairies, hovered a handspan off the ground, wings flickering with agitation. Around her, the others had gathered in a half-moon: fierce little points of light in the gloom, their glamour dimmed by worry.

“They’re going to blame us,” another snapped, a younger fairy with sharp cheekbones and sap-green hair. “They always blame us when humans die, when beasts go missing, when something dark moves through our woods like it owns them.”

“No human has died,” Lysa said, though her eyes darted away like the lie burned. “Not yet.”

“Not yet,” the green-haired fairy echoed, bitter.

You let your gaze sweep over them. Torn sleeves from last night’s skirmish with a thorn-wolf. A smear of ash across someone’s forehead. Everyone too tired, too bright-eyed, too on-edge.

The forest had always been yours in a way it wasn’t for anyone else. Not because of your title, not because of the delicate crown of woven ivy the court insisted you wear during council, but because nature listened to you the way it listened to no one. You didn’t command it like a soldier. You didn’t bargain like a merchant.

You understood.

And right now, it was screaming.

“He’s not just feeding,” you said softly.

They went still.

You crouched beside the rabbit, fingers hovering over its fur. A whisper of pollen and light slid from your palm. The rabbit’s chest rose once—just once—before it stilled again. Too late. You could coax a bud into bloom, could pull rain from a stubborn sky, could stitch bark back together after an axe bite, but you couldn’t pour a soul back into a body that had already gone cold.

Your throat tightened.

“He’s taking too much,” you finished, voice sharper. “And he’s doing it too close to the heartwood.”

“That castle has been there for centuries,” Lysa said. “Before any of us wore these wings. Before the court was even… named.”

“And in those centuries,” the green-haired fairy cut in, “something inside it has been starving.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

“We’ve tried warding the tree-line,” someone said, frantic. “We’ve tried binding circles. We tried sending animals away—”

“And he still found them,” Lysa whispered.

You could feel the forest’s answer like a bruise beneath your tongue: He hunts by scent. He hunts by thirst. He hunts because he can’t stop.

“Then we stop him,” you said.

“You mean you stop him,” the green-haired fairy said immediately, too quick, too bright with something like relief and resentment tangled together. “Because if you go—if you walk up there like you’re invincible—”

“—you might not come back,” Lysa finished, her voice breaking at the edges. “We’re not asking because we don’t care. We’re asking because we care too much.”

Your magic hummed, answering your emotion by curling ivy around your wrist like a bracelet, gentle as a hand.

“Send a battalion?” you asked. “He’ll pick you off. Send envoys?” you scoffed softly. “He’ll laugh. Keep doing nothing?” You gestured at the rabbit, the fox, the darkening stains in the grass. “The forest will die a slow death and we’ll pretend it’s not our fault.”

Silence.

Then, from the very back, a small voice—young, trembling—said, “He killed my doe.”

Your head snapped up.

A tiny fairy—barely more than a glow with wings—held her hands in fists like she was trying not to shake. Tears made her cheeks shine.

“She was my friend,” the child whispered.

Something in you went very calm.

When you stood, the air thickened around you, warm and fragrant, as if the forest itself was leaning in. The trees stirred, leaves whispering, branches angling toward you like an audience.

“I’m going,” you said.

Lysa’s jaw tightened. “If you go alone—”

“I won’t,” you said, though your eyes said I will if I have to.

A beat.

Then Lysa exhaled, resigned. “Take a guard. Take three. Let us—”

“No,” you said, gentler. “You stay. Keep the wards up. Keep the court from ripping itself apart while I’m gone.”

The green-haired fairy bristled. “So you can play hero and come back to a crown of flowers—”

You flicked your fingers.

A rosebush burst from the earth between you and her, blooming in a single heartbeat—white roses, sharp thorns, petals like fresh snow. Not an attack. A boundary.

Every fairy stilled.

You looked at her over the blossoms, your voice quiet enough that only she and the forest heard it. “This isn’t about glory.”

Her glare faltered.

“It’s about survival,” you finished. “For all of us.”

Then you turned toward the path that led up the hill.

Toward the castle.

Toward the darkness that had been drinking your forest dry.

The castle was the kind of thing nightmares built when they had too much time.

Black stone stacked into jagged spires, windows like slit eyes, ivy strangling the lower walls as if it had once tried to reclaim the place and failed. A gate arched open, not broken—inviting. The courtyard beyond held statues that were too smooth to be purely decorative, like they’d once been living things and someone had decided they looked better as stone.

Your wings stayed hidden under your glamour, pressed against your back like a secret. Your dress, spun from petal-silk, didn’t drag in the mud. Your bare feet left no prints. You carried no weapon.

You didn’t need one.

The moment you crossed the threshold, the air changed.

The forest’s scent—green, sweet, alive—thinned like mist burned away by sun. Here, everything smelled of cold iron and old smoke. And underneath it… something else. Hunger. Ancient and sharp.

Your magic crawled up your spine, restless.

You moved through the courtyard toward the massive doors.

They opened before you touched them.

No creak. No groan.

Just a smooth, deliberate swing.

As if the castle had been waiting.

Inside, the hall stretched long and dim, lit by candles that didn’t flicker. Shadows clung to the corners like they were afraid of the light. The floor was polished so perfectly your reflection stared back at you—a pale shape with eyes too bright and a mouth set in a line.

And at the end of the hall, beneath a staircase that split like ribs, a man leaned against a pillar as if this was a tavern and he was bored.

Bucky Barnes.

He looked like a story told to scare children—broad shoulders, dark clothes, hair falling into his eyes. But the real terror was the stillness. The kind that belonged to predators that didn’t need to hurry.

His eyes found you.

Blue—too blue in this dimness. Like ice with something molten trapped underneath.

“Fairy,” he drawled, voice low, amused. “Did the court finally decide to send a princess instead of a threat letter?”

Your jaw tightened. “You’ve been feeding in our woods.”

His mouth curved. Not quite a smile.

“Your woods,” he echoed, like the words tasted strange.

You took a step forward. The air reacted—dust lifting, candle flames bending toward you. A thin vine slipped out of a crack in the stone and curled around your ankle, protective.

“Those animals,” you said, keeping your voice level. “They’re not yours to take.”

Bucky’s gaze dipped—not to your ankle, not to the vine, but to your throat. Your pulse was steady, but you felt it anyway—the way his attention hooked into it like a blade.

“They’re not yours either,” he murmured.

“I don’t drain them,” you snapped. “I nurture them. I heal them. I—”

He pushed off the pillar.

The movement was fluid, almost lazy, and still your body tensed like prey.

He stopped several feet away, close enough that you could see the faint, silver sheen at the edges of his pupils—like moonlight caught under ice.

“Then heal this,” he said softly.

You blinked. “What?”

His hand lifted, palm up. For the first time, you noticed he wore a glove on one hand and nothing on the other—metal fingers catching the candlelight, too perfect, too wrong against the ancient stone.

He tugged the glove off his flesh hand with his teeth.

Then he turned that hand toward you.

There, across the inside of his wrist, was a burn mark—old and angry. Not from sunlight, but from something else. Magic, maybe. A rune. A brand.

It pulsed faintly, the way a dying ember pulses when wind hits it.

Your magic reacted immediately, tugging toward it like a moth toward flame.

“You’re marked,” you breathed.

His gaze didn’t leave your face. “Cursed,” he corrected. “Bound. Starved.”

“You’re a vampire,” you said. “You’re always hungry.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Not like this.”

The hall seemed to lean in around you, listening.

You steadied yourself. “Even if that’s true, it doesn’t give you the right to kill the forest.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened, and for a heartbeat, something feral flickered across his features—hunger, frustration, a flash of pain so raw it made your chest pinch.

“You think I like it?” he asked, voice suddenly hard. “You think I wake up and decide I’m going to bleed your woods dry because it’s fun?”

Your wings twitched beneath your glamour, anxious.

“I don’t care what you like,” you said, though the words didn’t come out as sharp as you wanted. “I care what you’re doing.”

He took another step. The candles didn’t flicker, but you felt the temperature drop.

“You came here to demand I stop,” he said, voice smooth again. “So what are you offering in return, princess?”

“I’m offering mercy,” you said, chin lifting.

His laugh was quiet, almost affectionate. “Mercy.”

You bristled. “You’ll leave the forest. You’ll hunt elsewhere. Or you’ll learn to feed without killing.”

His gaze flicked—briefly—to the vine at your ankle, then back to your face. “And if I can’t?”

“Then we end you,” you said.

The words hung in the air like a blade.

Bucky’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes sharpened.

“You think your court can?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” you lied, because you had to. Because if he smelled fear, you were done.

He tilted his head, studying you like you were a puzzle he already knew the answer to.

“No,” he murmured. “They sent you because they can’t. They sent you because you’re the only one with enough power to make a difference.”

Your throat tightened.

“And they sent you,” he continued, voice almost gentle, “because they’re willing to spend you to save themselves.”

Heat flared in your chest—anger, indignation. “You don’t know my people.”

“I know desperation,” he said simply. “I know what it does.”

Silence.

Your magic stirred, restless. Somewhere deep in the castle, a draft whispered through stone like a sigh.

You forced yourself to stay steady. “Stop feeding in the forest.”

Bucky’s gaze dropped again—not to your throat this time.

Lower.

To the place between your thighs where your body warmed at the sheer, infuriating closeness of him. Like your skin was betraying you, responding to predator proximity with something that wasn’t fear.

His nostrils flared.

You felt it the moment he smelled it: the faint sweetness of your arousal, floral and bright, bleeding into the cold air like spilled nectar.

His eyes went half-lidded.

“Oh,” he breathed, and there it was—the hunger, unmistakable. “That’s what you are.”

Your cheeks heated. “Excuse me?”

He took another step. Now he was close enough that you could see the faint fang tips when he spoke.

“Fairies,” he murmured, voice low, reverent in a way that made your stomach twist. “Nature’s heart. Magic in flesh.”

You swallowed. “Back up.”

His gaze lifted to your face, and something wicked curled in his expression.

“You can demand all you want,” he said. “But if you’re asking me to stop feeding, you’re asking me to starve.”

“You won’t starve,” you snapped, though your voice wavered. “You’ll hunt elsewhere—”

“I don’t want elsewhere,” he cut in, so fast it startled you. Then, quieter, like he’d revealed too much: “I can’t. Not with this.” He flexed his wrist, the mark pulsing. “It pulls me here. The forest. The heartwood. Your magic.”

Your stomach dropped.

It made a horrible kind of sense—the way the killings had gotten worse the closer they came to the heartwood. Like something was dragging him in.

“You’re tethered,” you whispered, horror and anger tangling. “To us.”

Bucky’s eyes didn’t soften. “And you walked into my house like you didn’t know.”

Your magic flared defensively. The vine at your ankle tightened, thorns rising.

“What do you want?” you asked, voice shaking with fury.

Bucky leaned in just slightly, enough that his breath brushed your cheek—cold and faintly metallic, like winter air.

“I’ll stop feeding on your animals,” he said.

Suspicion snapped through you. “Just like that?”

His lips curved. “Not for free.”

Of course.

You lifted your chin. “Name your price.”

His gaze dropped again, slow and deliberate, and your body responded with a traitorous pulse of warmth.

“I want you,” he said, voice like velvet dragged over steel.

The hall seemed to go very quiet.

Your wings trembled beneath your glamour.

“You want—” You choked on the words, anger rising fast to cover the sudden, sharp spark of something else. “You think you can bargain for my body?”

“I’m not bargaining for your body,” he corrected softly. “I’m bargaining for what’s inside it.”

Your breath caught.

Fairy magic wasn’t like other magic. It lived in blood and bone, yes—but more than that, it lived in pleasure. In the way life created life. In the way spring returned after winter. In the way flowers opened, shameless and bright.

And vampires… vampires fed on life.

Not just blood. Not just flesh.

Life.

You felt it then, the way his hunger pressed against your aura like fingers against a window, trying to get in.

Your voice came out thin. “You want to feed on me.”

Bucky’s eyes held yours, unblinking. “Yes.”

Fear flickered, quick and sharp.

And then—worse—curiosity.

Because the forest’s pulse beneath your feet eased, just slightly, like it recognized the shape of a solution.

You hated that.

“I’m not your meal,” you said, voice hard.

Bucky’s mouth twitched. “No.”

He leaned closer, just enough that you could smell him—cold stone, faint smoke, the iron tang of hunger.

“You’re my remedy,” he murmured. “And you know it.”

Your magic surged, vines snapping up from the cracks in the floor like living whips. They lashed out toward him, fast as thought.

Bucky moved.

Too fast.

One moment he was in front of you, the next he was behind you, a cold hand wrapping around your wrist—not crushing, but unyielding. The vines struck empty air, splintering against stone.

Your heart slammed.

“Let go,” you hissed.

His breath ghosted over your ear. “Tell your plants to stand down.”

“Don’t tell me what to do in my own forest,” you snapped, yanking.

He didn’t budge.

Instead, he pressed his mouth to the place just below your ear—barely a brush of lips, not a bite. A test.

Your entire body jolted.

It wasn’t fear that flooded you. It was heat, sudden and humiliating, pooling low in your belly like spilled honey.

Bucky exhaled, a sound like satisfaction.

“You smell like rain on warm earth,” he murmured. “Like flowers opening.”

“Stop,” you gasped, furious at the way your voice betrayed you.

He loosened his grip just slightly, enough that you could pull away if you truly wanted.

It was a choice.

Your magic noticed the difference. The vines stopped writhing. The thorns lowered.

You yanked your wrist free and spun to face him, breathing hard.

His eyes gleamed.

“You’re playing games,” you accused.

Bucky’s gaze flicked over you like he was cataloging every tremor, every flush, every tell. “No,” he said quietly. “I’m offering you a way to save what you came to protect.”

“You could just leave,” you said.

He shook his head. “I can’t.” Then, softer: “But I can stop killing for it.”

The sincerity in his voice hit you like a blow. Not because it was gentle—because it sounded like truth he’d hated for a long time.

You swallowed, trying to steady. “And what? You feed on me and everything’s fine?”

Bucky stepped closer, hands lifting slowly, palms open—like he was approaching a wild animal.

“You tell me,” he murmured. “Do you feel it? Your forest thinning, your heartwood fading? That’s because something is clogged. Something is trapped between life and death and it’s pulling everything into rot.”

Your stomach tightened. You had felt the rot—like a shadow under the roots, spreading.

He continued, voice low. “My curse tethers me to the heartwood. Your magic is tethered to it too. If we—if you let me feed the right way—your magic surges, cleans the rot, strengthens the forest. It’s… a circuit.”

Your breath shook.

It sounded like a spell.

Or a trap.

“You’re asking me to trust you,” you whispered.

Bucky’s gaze held yours, too intense. “I’m asking you to choose.”

He took another step, stopping so close you could feel the cold radiating from him.

“If you say no, I won’t touch you,” he said, and there was something almost brutal about the restraint in his voice. “I’ll leave the forest line. I’ll chain myself. I’ll starve. And your court can decide whether they want to watch their woods die anyway.”

You stared at him, chest rising and falling too fast.

“You’re cruel,” you whispered.

His mouth curved, but it wasn’t amused. “I’m honest.”

Silence stretched.

Somewhere far away, the forest sighed through the stone—wind slipping through cracks, carrying the faintest smell of pine like a plea.

You closed your eyes.

You thought of the rabbit. The fox. The child fairy whispering about her doe. You thought of the heartwood’s pulse stuttering beneath your feet.

You opened your eyes again.

“If I agree,” you said, voice tight, “you don’t bite me.”

Bucky’s gaze flicked to your throat, and for a heartbeat, his hunger flashed so sharp you thought he might shatter.

Then he nodded once, slow. “No biting.”

“And you don’t take anything from me without asking,” you continued, forcing the words out. “Not a kiss. Not a touch. Not—”

His eyes darkened, but his voice stayed steady. “Agreed.”

“And the moment I say stop,” you said, “you stop.”

Bucky’s jaw flexed. “Yes.”

You held his gaze, searching for deceit, for manipulation, for anything that said he was lying.

You found hunger. You found restraint. You found something like pain.

And… something like reverence.

You swallowed.

“Then,” you whispered, barely audible, “I’ll do it.”

Bucky went very still.

Like a predator hearing prey walk willingly into its jaws.

But when he moved, it wasn’t a lunge.

It was careful.

He lifted a hand and hovered it near your cheek without touching. His eyes asked the question his mouth didn’t.

You nodded once.

His palm cupped your cheek, cool against your warmth.

The contact sent a shiver down your spine so sharp you hated yourself for it.

“You’re sure?” he murmured.

Your throat bobbed. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

A quiet huff of a laugh left him, but it died quickly as his gaze dropped to your lips.

“May I?” he asked.

It shouldn’t have mattered—should’ve been a formality, a line in a bargain.

But the question landed in your chest like a promise.

“Yes,” you whispered.

Bucky kissed you.

Slow at first. Testing. Like he expected you to bite him back.

Your magic surged at the contact, petals blooming in invisible spirals around you, the air suddenly rich with summer. The candles flared brighter, bending toward you like sunflowers.

Bucky made a low sound in his throat, something almost hungry, and deepened the kiss.

His hand slid from your cheek to your neck, thumb resting against your pulse; not pressing, not threatening, just… feeling.

As if he couldn’t help it.

Your fingers fisted in his shirt.

He was cold and hard and everywhere his mouth moved, your body followed like it wanted to be led.

You pulled back first, breath ragged, eyes bright with anger you could barely summon anymore. “Where?”

His gaze flicked over your face. “There’s a room,” he said, voice rough. “If you want—”

“I’m not doing this on a stone floor,” you snapped, then immediately hated the shaky breath that followed. “Lead the way.”

Bucky’s mouth curved, and this time it was something dangerously close to a smile.

He offered his hand.

You stared at it like it was a trap.

Then you took it anyway.

His fingers closed around yours, cold and steady, and he guided you up the stairs.

The room was warmer than the hall, lit by a fireplace that crackled softly. Velvet curtains hung heavy over tall windows, shutting out the night. The bed was massive, draped in dark linens like spilled ink.

You hovered near the threshold, suddenly aware of how fast your heart was beating. Of how the bargain had turned into something far more intimate than you’d expected.

Bucky let go of your hand.

He didn’t approach. Didn’t corner you. Just stood near the foot of the bed, watching you like he was waiting for you to decide he wasn’t worth the risk.

Your wings fluttered beneath your glamour, nervous.

“You can leave,” he said quietly.

You glared. “Stop saying that like you want me to.”

His eyes flickered. “I want you here,” he admitted, voice low. “But I’m not… I’m not taking.”

The honesty in it made your chest twist.

“You talk too much,” you muttered, stepping forward.

Bucky’s gaze followed you, sharp.

You stopped a few feet away, chin lifted. “Tell me what to do.”

His breath hitched.

Then, slowly, he shook his head. “No,” he murmured. “Tell me what you want.”

Heat crawled up your neck. Your pride flared, stubborn and bright.

“I want you to stop killing my animals,” you said.

Bucky’s mouth twitched. “That’s not what I meant.”

You narrowed your eyes.

He exhaled, then stepped closer—still careful, still giving you space.

“I want,” you said, voice rougher than you expected, “to know you’re not lying.”

Bucky’s gaze held yours. “How do I prove it?”

Your magic stirred, responding to your emotion by sending a tendril of ivy curling up the bedpost. A bloom opened—pale blue, delicate.

“You’re a vampire,” you said. “You’re supposed to be monstrous.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened. “I can be.”

Your breath caught.

“And you still asked,” you whispered, almost accusing. “You still—”

His voice dropped. “I wanted your yes.”

Silence.

Your body hummed with need now, unmistakable. Your arousal wasn’t just desire—it was magic, blooming and thickening in your veins like nectar.

The forest wanted this. It recognized the circuit he’d spoken of, the way life and hunger could meet and turn into something that healed instead of harmed.

You hated that your body agreed.

You stepped closer, until you were within reach.

Bucky didn’t move.

Not until you lifted your hand and pressed your palm to his chest.

He was solid beneath your touch, muscles tight, his heart… quiet. Not beating like yours, but there was something there, a faint pulse of magic under the skin.

His breath shuddered.

“Undress me,” you said, voice daring.

Bucky’s eyes flashed.

“May I?” he asked, still.

“Yes,” you snapped, then softened despite yourself, quieter: “Yes.”

His hands rose slowly, like he was afraid sudden movement would spook you. He touched the edge of your dress, fingers brushing petal-silk, and your magic flared in response—flowers blooming in the air, invisible but scented, filling the room with spring.

Bucky inhaled sharply, eyes closing for half a second like the scent hit him somewhere deep.

Then he slipped the dress from your shoulders.

The fabric slid down, pooling at your feet like shed petals. Cool air kissed your skin. Your glamour held your wings hidden, but you could feel them fluttering, agitated.

Bucky’s gaze traveled over you—slow, reverent, hungry—but he didn’t touch.

Not until you lifted your chin. “You’re staring.”

His mouth curved. “I’m trying not to lose my mind.”

“You’re already losing it,” you muttered.

Something broke in his expression—amusement, heat, a crack in the monster.

Then he stepped in close and kissed you again, deeper, his hands finally finding you—one on your waist, one sliding up your back, fingers splaying like he wanted to memorize you.

You gasped into his mouth.

His lips moved against yours like he was starving for more than blood.

When he pulled away, your breathing was ragged.

Bucky’s forehead rested against yours. “Tell me if I’m too much,” he murmured.

You swallowed, then forced your voice steady. “You’re not enough.”

His eyes snapped open, bright.

Your boldness made your magic surge. The ivy on the bedpost unfurled, leaves widening, blossoms opening.

Bucky’s hands tightened at your waist.

“You’re going to regret saying things like that,” he warned, voice rough.

“Try me,” you whispered.

Bucky made a low sound and lifted you.

He lifted you easily, like you weighed nothing, setting you on the bed as if you were something precious.

The mattress dipped under his weight as he followed, hovering over you without pressing down. His hair fell forward, dark against the firelight.

His eyes searched your face one more time. “Still yes?”

Your throat bobbed. “Yes.”

Bucky exhaled like relief and hunger had finally found the same breath.

Then he lowered his mouth to your skin.

He kissed your shoulder. Your collarbone. The center of your chest.

Each kiss was cool at first, then warmed as your body heated around him, your magic responding by spilling more scent into the air—lush and bright, like crushed flowers.

Bucky’s hands slid down your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts, and you arched with a soft sound you didn’t mean to make.

His gaze flicked up, catching it.

“Pretty,” he murmured, like the word was torn out of him.

Your cheeks heated. “Don’t—”

“Don’t what?” he asked, voice low, mouth still against your skin.

Your pride flared. “Don’t act like you’re not enjoying this.”

Bucky’s laugh was a shaky exhale. “Princess,” he murmured, “I’m trying to survive it.”

His mouth moved lower, kissing your stomach, his hands spreading your thighs gently.

He paused, looking up at you like he was asking permission without words.

You swallowed, then nodded.

Bucky’s eyes darkened.

He pushed your thighs wider then slid down between them.

The first brush of his breath against you made you jolt.

“Oh,” you gasped, fingers clutching at the sheets.

Bucky’s hands settled on your hips, holding you steady like he was afraid you’d vanish.

“Tell me,” he murmured, voice muffled against your skin. “Do you want my mouth?”

You hated how quickly you answered.

“Yes,” you breathed. Then, louder, because your pride demanded it: “And don’t be gentle about it.”

Bucky’s breath hitched.

Then his tongue touched you.

Warm, broad, devastating.

You gasped, head falling back, wings fluttering hard beneath your glamour. The room seemed to brighten as your magic surged—flowers blooming in invisible spirals, ivy racing along the bedframe like it couldn’t help itself.

Bucky made a low sound against you, like a growl turned into worship.

He licked you slowly at first, tasting, learning. Every stroke pulled a fresh wave of heat through you, your magic building like spring floodwater behind a dam.

Your thighs trembled around his shoulders.

“Bucky,” you gasped, the name slipping out before you could stop it.

He looked up at you from between your legs, eyes dark and hungry, mouth shining.

“Yeah?” he murmured, and the sound vibrated against you, making you jerk.

You glared down at him, furious and breathless. “Don’t talk.”

His mouth curved.

Then he went back down on you like he took your command as a challenge.

He lapped harder, tongue pressing deep, then flicked against your clit with sharp precision that made you cry out. His hands tightened on your hips, keeping you open, keeping you steady as your body tried to squirm away from the intensity.

“Too much?” he asked, voice rough, but he didn’t stop—just slowed enough that the question mattered.

Your breath stuttered. “No,” you managed. “Don’t stop.”

Bucky’s eyes flashed.

He sucked gently—then harder—on your clit, and your whole body arched, magic surging so violently the ivy on the bedpost exploded into blossoms, petals drifting through the air like snow.

Outside the castle, far beyond the stone walls, the forest answered.

You felt it—a pulse through the roots, sudden and bright, like a heart remembering how to beat.

Bucky groaned against you, the sound nearly obscene.

“Fuck,” he rasped, like the taste of you was dragging him to the edge of something. “You’re—”

He cut himself off and buried his face again, eating you like he was starving and you were the only thing that could keep him alive.

You clutched at his hair, fingers tangling, tugging without thinking.

He didn’t flinch. If anything, he pressed closer.

“Good?” he murmured, voice hoarse.

“Yes,” you gasped. “Yes—oh—”

He slid two fingers inside you—slow, careful, watching your face like a hawk. You tensed, then melted as he curled them, finding the spot that made you choke on a cry.

Bucky’s mouth never stopped.

The room filled with the scent of wet petals and fresh earth. The fireplace flared, flames rising, and the candles on the dresser brightened as if your magic was pouring into everything that could hold light.

Bucky’s mark on his wrist began to glow.

You saw it when he lifted his hand briefly, the rune pulsing brighter with every sound you made.

It was feeding.

Not on your blood.

On your pleasure.

On the life blooming in you like a garden in spring.

Bucky’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, and something raw moved there—relief, hunger, awe.

“Feel that?” he rasped. “Your magic—”

“Shut up,” you whimpered, because you could barely think, let alone talk.

He huffed a laugh against your skin, then thrust his fingers deeper, curling them just right while his tongue worked you with ruthless devotion.

It hit you fast.

A wave building too high, too bright.

You tried to brace—tried to hold back, stubborn even here—but your body betrayed you, trembling under him, your magic surging in time with your heartbeat.

“Bucky,” you choked, voice breaking. “I’m—”

He hummed, approving. “Let it happen,” he murmured, and the words sounded like a spell.

You shattered.

Pleasure tore through you, sharp and white-hot, your back arching off the bed. Your magic exploded with it—flowers blooming so fast the air turned thick with scent, ivy racing along stone, leaves unfurling as if the castle itself couldn’t resist becoming alive.

And outside—

Outside, the forest pulsed.

Roots drank deep. Rot burned away in a bright, cleansing surge. The heartwood steadied, its stuttering rhythm smoothing into a strong, steady beat.

You felt it like an echo, like the land itself exhaling.

Bucky groaned against you, eyes squeezing shut, as if the surge hit him too.

When you finally came down, shaking, he slowed, easing his fingers out, mouth softening into gentler kisses that made your oversensitive body twitch.

He rested his cheek against your inner thigh for a moment, breathing hard.

Then—slowly—he looked up at you.

His eyes were brighter. Less hollow. Like something inside him had been fed properly for the first time in centuries.

“You okay?” he asked, voice rough.

You swallowed, heart still racing. “Don’t… don’t you dare act sweet now.”

His mouth curved, but there was no mockery in it. “I’m not acting,” he murmured.

He shifted up the bed, hovering over you again, his hand sliding to your cheek.

“Thank you,” he said, so quietly it startled you.

Your chest tightened, anger cracking into something complicated. “You’re welcome,” you muttered, then snapped, defensive: “This doesn’t mean you own me.”

Bucky’s thumb stroked your cheek. “I don’t want to own you.”

“Liar,” you whispered, because your pride demanded it.

Bucky’s eyes held yours. “I want to keep you,” he admitted, voice low. “But only if you want to stay.”

Your breath caught.

You stared at him, searching for the monster again.

You found him—hunger, darkness, predatory patience.

But you also found the restraint that had kept him from taking when he could have. The way he’d asked, every time. The way his hunger had turned into reverence instead of violence.

You hated how much that mattered.

Outside, the forest’s pulse steadied under your skin like a promise.

You swallowed. “If I stay,” you said carefully, “you stop hunting the animals.”

Bucky nodded immediately. “Yes.”

“And you don’t come near the heartwood unless I say you can.”

“Agreed.”

“And if you ever hurt my people—”

His eyes darkened. “I won’t.”

You narrowed your gaze. “That’s not an agreement.”

Bucky’s jaw flexed. Then, quietly: “If I ever hurt your people, you can kill me.”

The bluntness of it made your breath hitch.

You stared at him, heart thudding.

Then you scoffed, because you couldn’t let yourself be softened. “Dramatic.”

Bucky’s mouth twitched. “You’re the one who stormed into a vampire’s castle and threatened him with death.”

“Because you deserved it,” you shot back.

Bucky leaned down, pressing a kiss to your mouth—slow, sweet, startlingly tender.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured against your lips.

You glared. “You’re a parasite.”

His laugh was low. “And you’re my favorite meal.”

Heat flared in your cheeks. “Bucky—”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, hand sliding down your side, fingers brushing your thigh.

He pulled back, eyes heavy. “Can I?” he asked, voice rough.

Your pulse stuttered.

You could say no. You could leave. You could go back to the court and claim victory and never step foot in this castle again.

But the forest’s pulse—steady now—felt like it had wrapped itself around your spine and whispered this works.

And worse—your body wanted him.

You swallowed, voice quieter. “Yes.”

Bucky’s eyes flashed.

He shifted, lowering himself between your thighs again, but this time he didn’t rush. He kissed the inside of your knee first, then your thigh, then the place where your skin was still sensitive from what he’d done.

You shivered.

“You’re going to make a habit of this,” you muttered.

Bucky’s mouth brushed your skin. “I’m going to worship you,” he murmured, voice dark. “If you let me.”

Your magic flared in response, ivy curling along his arm like a caress.

“Just…” you breathed, already trembling. “Just don’t bite.”

Bucky lifted his head, eyes gleaming. “No biting,” he promised.

Then he went back to your slick heat, licking softly at first, coaxing you back open with patient, hungry devotion.

Your hands found his shoulders, fingers digging in.

Bucky hummed, pleased.

Outside the castle, the forest breathed again—greener, brighter, alive.

And somewhere far below the roots, the rot that had been spreading for so long finally began to retreat, chased away by a circuit of hunger and magic that shouldn’t have worked—

But did.

By dawn, you lay tangled in dark sheets, skin flushed, magic humming low and satisfied beneath your ribs.

Bucky lay beside you, one arm under your head, the other—metal—resting at your waist like a careful anchor. His face was turned toward you, eyes half-lidded, watching you like you were a sunrise he didn’t deserve.

You should’ve been gone. You should’ve been racing back to the court with proof, with victory, with a story sharp enough to cut down any fairy who doubted you.

Instead, you were here.

In a vampire’s bed.

With the forest’s pulse steady under your skin like a secret.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Bucky murmured, voice sleep-rough.

You glared at him. “I don’t think loud.”

His mouth twitched. “Sure.”

You shifted, sitting up slightly. The sheets slid down, and Bucky’s gaze tracked the movement with slow, hungry appreciation.

“Don’t start,” you warned.

Bucky lifted a brow. “Start what?”

“You know what,” you snapped, though you felt heat bloom again, traitorous.

Bucky reached up, fingers brushing your hip—light, questioning.

“May I?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes, but your magic curled around his wrist like a ribbon.

“Yes,” you muttered. “But if I go back to the court and they’re fighting—”

“They will be,” he said calmly.

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

Bucky’s gaze held yours, and something dark and amused flickered there. “They sent their princess to negotiate with a vampire.”

Your mouth opened, then shut, because he wasn’t wrong.

You huffed. “I’m going to have to lie.”

Bucky’s thumb stroked your hip. “Or tell the truth.”

You glared. “Absolutely not.”

He laughed softly, then sobered, eyes sharpening. “You should bring them proof,” he said. “Not of… this.” His hand tightened briefly, then loosened, respectful. “But of the forest. That it’s healing.”

You hesitated, because that sounded like… partnership.

Like something that might last longer than a bargain.

“You’re going to keep your word,” you said, voice careful.

Bucky’s eyes didn’t waver. “Yes.”

“And you’re going to stop hunting in the woods,” you pressed.

“Yes.”

“And if the curse pulls you—”

Bucky’s jaw flexed. “Then you come here,” he murmured. “Or I come to you. And we do it the right way.”

Heat curled low in your belly again, immediate.

You hated him.

You hated your body.

You hated that the forest felt brighter already.

You swallowed, then looked away, because you refused to let him see the way your pride was cracking.

“I’m not staying,” you lied.

Bucky’s hand slid up your side, fingers splaying against your ribs like he was memorizing you again.

“Okay,” he said, too calm.

You snapped your gaze back. “Okay?”

Bucky’s mouth curved, knowing. “You’ll be back.”

Fury flared. “You’re arrogant.”

Bucky’s eyes gleamed. “I’m hungry,” he corrected, and his hand tightened just slightly like a promise. “And you, princess… you taste like the forest learning how to live again.”

Your breath hitched.

Then you shoved his shoulder—not hard, but enough to make him shift—and climbed out of bed, snatching your dress from the floor.

Bucky watched you, amused and hungry, like he had all the time in the world.

You threw the dress on, glamour snapping back into place like armor.

At the door, you paused.

Without looking back, you said, “If I hear about one more dead animal—”

“I’ll eat you instead,” Bucky called lazily.

You froze, cheeks heating.

Behind you, his laugh rumbled, warm and dangerous.

You stormed out of the room, wings trembling beneath your glamour, heart pounding with fury and something that felt suspiciously like anticipation.

And as you stepped back into the hall, the castle’s cold air met your skin—

But beyond the stone, beyond the black spires—

The forest pulsed, steady and strong.

Waiting for you to come back.

You were fluttering peacefully through the trees near the outskirts of New York when a group of shouting humans in dark armor leapt out from behind a bush and trapped you in what they called a “containment unit.” You didn’t know what SHIELD was, but their agents were very loud and very rough, and they didn’t even ask your name.

You sat cross-legged at the bottom of the jar, wings tucked in, arms folded across your chest, trying your best to look unimpressed.

And then he walked in. Tall, golden-haired, broad-shouldered, a man who practically radiated kindness and confusion in equal measure. Steve Rogers.

He approached the table with another man behind him, darker, quieter, haunted-eyed but alert watching everything. Bucky Barnes.

“I thought you said there was an artifact,” Steve said slowly, looking at the jar.

“It is,” The agent replied. “It talks.”

You gave the man your most dramatic eye roll.

Steve crouched beside the table, eyes soft, voice careful. “Hi there. What’s your name?”

You turned your head away and said nothing.

Bucky stepped closer, narrowing his eyes. “Do fairies sulk?”

You didn’t like his tone not cruel, just skeptical. So you stuck your tongue out at him and turned invisible.

Bucky jumped slightly. “Okay. That answers that.”

“Hey, hey,” Steve murmured, holding his hands up gently. “We’re not gonna hurt you, promise. You just surprised everyone, that’s all. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Still, you said nothing.

It wasn’t until someone walked by with a coffee and a chocolate chip cookie that you broke your silence. You reappeared instantly, pressed against the glass, eyes wide.

Steve blinked, then laughed softly. “You want one of those?”

You nodded furiously.

Five minutes later, the jar was opened and you bolted straight onto Steve’s shoulder, snatched the cookie chunk he offered, and curled into the crook of his neck like you’d always lived there.

You stayed close after that. Not that they had much of a choice.

You built a tiny hammock out of tissues on their bookshelf. Braided thread into their laces. Tried to “fix” Bucky’s grumpy face with flower petals and got scolded, very softly, for it. You called Steve “Tree” because he was tall and smelled like sap. You called Bucky “Shadow” because he followed you around pretending he wasn’t trying to protect you.

You refused to be studied, refused to go back in any jars, and made it very clear you’d chosen your new home: right between two super soldiers who didn’t know how much they needed something as strange and sweet as you.

Sometimes, you’d land on Bucky’s shoulder when he couldn’t sleep, singing soft, wordless melodies that reminded him of something in the past. Sometimes, you’d perch on Steve’s chest as he read, snuggled into the fabric of his henley like a kitten with wings.

You were tiny, fragile, ridiculous, and completely, utterly theirs.

Even if you still left cookie crumbs everywhere.

-

Steve and Bucky discovered quickly how particular fairies could be. Or maybe it was just you.

See, they realized you were much more stubborn than they had anticipated which caused another one of your sulking moods. It started because you weren’t allowed to use the microwave. Which, in your defense, made no sense.

You weren’t trying to start another fire, that was an accident. And yes, maybe the leftover spaghetti had exploded the last time, but how were you supposed to know that foil was banned? You’d never had a microwave before. You grew up in moss and tree hollows and warm sunlight. Your diet was dew, nectar, and whatever you could barter from passing squirrels.

Now, you wanted popcorn, but Bucky had said no. He had looked down at you with his arms crossed and that stupid I care about you and you’re being ridiculous face, stating, “You almost fried the tower’s circuits last time. Find something from the fruit bowl if you’re hungry.”

You responded with the most dramatic gasp you could manage and fluttered up to the top of the cabinets, crossing your arms with a huff.

Steve tried to step in, intervening gently. “He’s not trying to upset you. He just doesn’t want you to get hurt.”

You didn’t answer. You turned your back with your wings flaring slightly in righteous fairy fury, you refused to acknowledge either of them. Not even when Steve sighed and offered you a piece of shortbread. Not even when Bucky muttered something like “She’s sulking again, isn’t she?”

You remained a furious little sparkle, curled into a puffball of wings and pouting.

Hours passed. You still refused to come down.

They tried tempting you with cookies, with your favorite mug of rose petal tea, with one of Steve’s socks (which you always stole to use as a blanket).

Nothing. You were mad. And fairies, though small, are very good at holding grudges.

By the time night fell, you were still wedged behind a cereal box, curled into a mopey heap. And then… you heard a sound. Thump. It was a soft knock on the cabinet.

You peeked over the edge to find Bucky standing there, holding a tiny plate.

“I made popcorn. Not with the microwave. Just the pan.”

You stared at him.

“I didn’t put salt on it. Figured you’d want to do that yourself.”

He set the plate down gently on the counter, then leaned against it, arms folded.

“…You gonna stay up there forever?” He asked after a pause, tone mild.

You turned invisible.

He smirked. “Cute.”

Moments later, you reappeared beside the popcorn and began nibbling, still silent, still frowning.

Steve walked in just then and paused. “Is that a peace offering or a trap?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Bucky replied.

You muttered something under your breath.

Steve blinked. “Did she just call you a ‘grumpy tin soldier’?”

“I think so,” Bucky said, raising an eyebrow.

You stuffed a piece of popcorn in your mouth and glared at them both, cheeks puffed out like a hamster.

Steve crouched beside the counter, eyes warm. “Hey, no one’s mad at you, sweetheart. We just don’t want you getting hurt.”

You looked away before mumbling, “I wanted to make it myself.”

And that was the truth of it. You wanted to prove you could. That you weren’t just tiny and delicate and fluttery. That you could be useful, capable. That you weren’t always the one needing help.

Bucky leaned closer, voice quieter now. “Next time… I’ll show you how.”

You peeked up at him, suspicious.

“You can hold the lid,” He said, tone serious. “That’s an important job.”

“…Fine,” You muttered.

Steve smiled gently, brushing your wing with one careful finger. “We’re proud of you, y’know.”

You huffed, still pretending you weren’t moved before climbing into Bucky’s hand, wings drooping slightly from exhaustion and popcorn forgotten. You curled into his palm with a sigh, tiny fingers gripping the edge of his sleeve.

His words caught in his throat as he paused, his eyes narrowing at the sudden shift in the air around him. It wasn’t the normal breeze that rustled the leaves; no, this felt… different. Almost alive, as if the very forest itself was holding its breath.

He shook his head, chuckling bitterly at himself.

It’s just the wind, he told himself, moving forward again. But the deeper he ventured into the woods, the more uneasy he felt. Something was off. Something was watching him.

And when a faint, almost ethereal sound drifted through the trees—too soft to be an animal, too melodic to be anything but strange—he froze.

His instincts kicked in, the trained hunter in him waking up. The forest was quiet now. Too quiet.

“What the hell?” he muttered, his hand instinctively reaching for his bow, his eyes scanning the shadows.

Nothing.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to shake off the feeling. There was no way—he couldn’t afford to let his mind wander. Yet the sensation of being observed was growing stronger with every step. His pulse quickened, but instead of fear, there was an odd sense of curiosity—a pull, something he couldn’t explain.

With a quick exhale, he adjusted his grip on the bow and moved deeper into the forest, determined to uncover what was hiding in the shadows.

As he ventured deeper into the woods, a sudden loud thud echoed through the trees, followed by the unmistakable sound of something—or someone—crashing through the underbrush. Gojo’s eyes narrowed, a smirk tugging at his lips. Finally, some action.

He crept toward the source of the noise, his footsteps silent on the forest floor. As he approached, he spotted a foot sticking out from behind a large fern. He bit his tongue to suppress a chuckle. Whoever this was, they were about to get an earful.

Stepping closer, he peered around the fern to find a young woman sprawled on the ground, her wings—yes, wings—splayed out awkwardly beside her. She had a few branches and leaves tangled in her hair, and dirt smudged her cheeks. She looked up, eyes wide with surprise, and they both froze.

For a moment, neither moved. Then, in unison, they both screamed.

"AHHHH!"

Gojo stumbled back, nearly dropping his bow. "What the—?"

The woman scrambled to her feet, brushing off leaves and dirt. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

Gojo blinked, still processing the sight before him. "I... I should be asking you that. What are you doing in my forest?"

She crossed her arms, her wings fluttering slightly. "Your forest? This is a public forest!"

"Not anymore," he retorted, smirk returning. "I just claimed it."

She rolled her eyes. "Typical. Another human thinking they own everything."

"Hey, I was here first," he shot back. "And last time I checked, humans were the dominant species around here."

She raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? Because last time I checked, humans were the ones who needed to be saved from themselves."

Gojo chuckled. "Touché. But seriously, what are you? Some kind of... fairy?"

She huffed, wings twitching slightly. "Yes. I am. And for the record, not all fairies are tiny and delicate. Some of us can hold our own."

Gojo stared at her for a solid few seconds before scoffing. "Yeah, okay. Sure. And I’m a royal prince."

She frowned. "What?"

"Come on," he waved a hand at her wings. "Fairies aren’t real. You can just admit it now before this gets embarrassing."

Her glare sharpened. "I am a fairy."

Gojo crossed his arms. "No, you’re not."

"Yes, I am."

"No, you’re not."

She exhaled sharply. "Why is this so hard for you to believe?"

Gojo threw up his hands. "Because fairies belong in bedtime stories! Magic, wings, flying around all sparkly—yeah, it’s cute for kids, but in real life? People don’t just have wings."

She rolled her eyes. "You're an idiot."

"No, I’m just sane," he shot back. Then, his gaze flickered back to her wings, still skeptical. "What even are those? You make them yourself? They’re kinda impressive, I’ll give you that."

She twitched. "They’re real."

"Right, sure." His smirk deepened as he stepped closer. "Bet they’re just attached to your clothes or something—"

Before he could finish, his hand reached out, fingers just barely grazing the edge of her wing—

SMACK!

"Ow!" Gojo yelped, stumbling back as she slapped his hand away with a force he definitely wasn’t expecting.

"I told you not to touch them!" she yelled, wings flaring wide.

Gojo clutched his hand, eyes wide. "What the hell?! That actually hurt!"

"It was supposed to!" she snapped, her face burning with irritation. "Do you go around grabbing random people's limbs too?"

Gojo blinked, still holding his hand. "Well... I mean, if I thought they were fake, yeah."

She groaned, shoving past him. "Unbelievable. I don’t have time for this."

"Whoa, whoa, wait!" He quickly stepped in front of her, arms outstretched. "Alright, let’s just—wait a second." His blue eyes studied her, skeptical yet intrigued. "So you’re really trying to convince me that you’re some mystical, magical creature, huh?"

She folded her arms. "I’m not trying to convince you. I am one."

Gojo tapped his chin. "Mmm. Nope. Still don’t buy it."

She scowled. "You just saw my wings!"

"Yeah, and I’ve also seen some very good costumes."

Her eye twitched. "I flew before I fell!"

"And I’ve seen people jump off roofs and think they’re flying."

She let out a long, slow exhale, visibly restraining herself from strangling him. "You're insufferable."

Gojo grinned. "So I’ve been told."

Silence hung between them, thick with tension. She was clearly done with him. He was clearly entertained by her frustration. And yet, neither of them moved.

The forest had gone eerily quiet. The wind barely rustled the leaves. It was as if the world itself was waiting to see what happened next.

Finally, Gojo spoke. "Alright, fine—I’ll play along. So, fairy girl, if you’re real... prove it."

She narrowed her eyes, a slow, knowing smirk creeping onto her face. "Oh, you’ll regret saying that."

Gojo raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. “Yeah, yeah. I’m shaking.”

Without another word, she stepped back, rolling her shoulders as her wings stretched to their full span. The soft glow of the setting sun caught on them, illuminating the delicate but powerful structure. Gojo barely had time to process the sight before—

Whoosh.

She launched herself into the air, wings beating with precise, controlled movements. Leaves and dust swirled around as she hovered effortlessly above him, the wind from her wings rustling his hair.

Gojo’s smirk faltered.

His brain short-circuited for a second.

She… flew.

Not jumped. Not swung from a branch. Not some elaborate trick of wires or illusions. No, she lifted clean off the ground, rising higher and higher with each beat of her wings.

“What.” His voice came out flat, his head tilting back as he followed her ascent.

She did a slow, mocking circle above him before descending just a few feet in front of his face, her arms crossed and a smug look plastered on her face.

"Still fake?" she taunted.

Gojo blinked. "Okay. Hold on. Wait a damn minute."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, what now? Are you going to say I’m on some invisible ropes? A hallucination, maybe?"

Gojo rubbed his temples. "I'm the hallucination at this point. This—this doesn’t happen. People don’t just—fly.”

"Well, good thing I’m not people," she shot back. "Say it. Fairies are real."

Gojo pointed at her. "You have to be messing with me."

She hovered a little closer. "Say. It."

Gojo squinted at her. Then at the wings. Then at her feet. Then back at the wings. Then—

"…Nah," he said, shaking his head.

Her jaw dropped. "Excuse me?!"

"You’re still messing with me," he said firmly, though it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself. “This is—this is a trick. Maybe some weird physics thing I never learned. Or—or maybe I’m dehydrated. Yeah. Maybe I hit my head. That would explain why I’m seeing some girl floatin’ in front of me with—”

She sighed deeply before flapping her wings hard, sending a burst of wind directly into his face.

"—AGH, shit!" He stumbled back, hands shielding his face from the sudden gust.

She landed smoothly in front of him, looking pleased with herself. "Convinced now?"

Gojo, hair now an absolute mess, slowly lowered his hands. His expression was unreadable as he stared at her, the gears in his head practically screaming as they tried to process the impossible.

Then, finally—

“…Okay, so let’s pretend for a second,” he began, still skeptical but clearly shaken, “that you are some kind of fairy.”

She groaned. "Oh my god."

"Hey, I’m getting there!" He waved a hand. "It’s just—you can’t expect me to accept that just like that. Fairies aren’t supposed to be real. They’re myths. Fantasy stuff! Kids’ stories! You can’t just—just exist like this!"

"And yet, here I am," she deadpanned.

Gojo dragged a hand down his face. “You see why this is a lot to take in, right?”

"Oh, I do. You’re just painfully slow."

"Excuse you—"

"How about this?" She stepped forward, tilting her head. "Instead of standing here having an existential crisis, you start believing what’s right in front of you?"

Gojo inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, and nodded. “Okay.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”

“Yes. Okay. I’m… open to considering the possibility that maybe—just maybe—you are not, in fact, a very dedicated prankster.”

She rolled her eyes. "Close enough."

Another pause. Gojo ran a hand through his hair, still visibly shaken.

“…So, uh,” he started, “if fairies are real, does that mean, like… elves are real, too? Or, like, dragons?”

She sighed. “Oh boy.”

Gojo stared at her for a long moment, his hands on his hips, lips pressed together like he was really trying to process what just happened. Then, with a deep sigh, he finally spoke.

"Okay. Fine," he muttered, rubbing his temple. "Maybe—maybe—you're actually a fairy."

She crossed her arms. "Wow. That must have hurt to admit."

Gojo shot her a look. "Yeah, yeah, don’t get too excited. But seriously—how? How is this even possible?" He gestured at her wings like they personally offended him. "People don’t just have these! There’s gotta be some explanation. Science? Magic? Divine intervention? Hell, did I eat something weird this morning?"

She just blinked at him.

Gojo stared back.

More silence.

Finally, she sighed and turned on her heel. "Yeah, nope. Not explaining anything to someone this stupid."

Gojo gasped dramatically, placing a hand on his chest. "Hey! First of all—rude. Second of all—I think I deserve some kind of answer here!"

"You think?" she scoffed, already walking away. "I don't owe you anything."

"You literally just fell out of the sky in front of me, flapped your little wings, and sent my entire worldview into flames!" Gojo threw his arms up. "The least you could do is tell me how!"

She ignored him, stepping over some fallen branches. "Not my problem."

Gojo groaned, dragging a hand down his face before quickly following after her. "Oh, come on. Just a little hint? A tiny fairy secret? A—hey, wait up!"

She didn't wait.

Gojo let out an exasperated huff. "Unbelievable. First, I find out fairies are real, and now, apparently, they’re jerks, too."

She smirked but didn't turn around. "Took you long enough to figure that one out."

Gojo huffed as he followed after her, stepping over roots and crunching leaves underfoot. “You know, if you’re gonna crash-land in front of me, the least you could do is answer a few simple questions.”

She didn’t even look back. “I don’t owe you anything.”

“Wow. The attitude.” Gojo scoffed, quickening his pace to walk beside her. “You’re seriously not gonna explain anything? Nothing at all? Not even a tiny little—”

“Nope.”

He blinked. “Not even like, ‘Oh, Gojo, I’m actually from a magical fairy kingdom, and I fell out of the sky because an evil wizard cursed me’?”

She gave him a look. “Do I look cursed to you?”

Gojo looked her up and down, taking in the dirt, leaves, and general mess she had become from falling. “Honestly? A little bit.”

Her eye twitched. "I swear, you're the most annoying human I've ever met."

Gojo grinned. “You’ve met a lot of humans, then? Or am I just special?”

"You're something," she muttered under her breath, shoving a branch out of her way as she walked faster.

Gojo followed easily. “Oh, come on. I get nothing? No tragic backstory? No mysterious quest? No ‘I’m the lost princess of the fairy realm’?”

“Keep guessing,” she said dryly.

Gojo groaned dramatically. “Unbelievable. I stumble across a real-life fairy, and she won’t even tell me how she exists.”

She suddenly stopped walking, spinning on her heel so fast that Gojo barely avoided bumping into her. She looked up at him, unimpressed. “Let me make this very clear, human—I don’t have to tell you anything. Not to someone as stupid as you.”

Gojo gasped, clutching his chest like she had physically wounded him. “Stupid?! Me?! I’ll have you know I’m very intelligent.”

“Oh, really?” she deadpanned. “Because a very intelligent person would’ve accepted reality by now instead of standing here whining like a child.”

Gojo pouted. “I’m not whining.”

“You are whining.”

Gojo scoffed. “I am not—”

“You are.”

“I am not—”

She sighed, turning back around and walking again. “I don’t have time for this.”

Gojo followed instantly. “You keep saying that, but you don’t seem to be going anywhere important.”

She ignored him.

Gojo smirked. “You do know where you’re going, right?”

Silence.

Gojo blinked. “Wait… do you not know?”

More silence.

Gojo grinned. “Ohhh, you don’t, do you?”

She exhaled slowly. "Shut. Up."

Gojo chuckled, hands behind his head as he walked beside her. “So what I’m hearing is—you’re lost.”

“I’m not lost.”

“Right, right. You just don’t know where you’re going. Totally different.”

She clenched her jaw, clearly regretting every life decision that led her to this moment.

Gojo leaned down slightly, tilting his head to look at her face. “Hey, no need to be embarrassed. I get it. You fell out of the sky, got dirt in your hair, met a very handsome stranger—”

She shot him a glare so sharp he actually paused.

“…Right. Moving on.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway. Lucky for you, I know this forest like the back of my hand.”

She snorted. “Oh, great. That makes one of us.”

Gojo smirked. “So, that means you do need my help.”

She looked up at the sky, as if praying for patience. “I never said that.”

Gojo’s grin widened. “You didn’t have to.”

She groaned, rubbing her temple. "I swear, if you don't shut up—"

"—You'll what?" Gojo cut in, completely unfazed. "Hit me again? Because, honestly, I think you just wanted an excuse to touch me the first time."

Her wings flared as she turned sharply. "I will throw you into a tree."

Gojo held up his hands, laughing. “Alright, alright, no need for violence, fairy girl.”

Her eyes flashed. “Don’t call me that.”

Gojo smirked. “Not a fan of nicknames? What about wings? Feathers? Angry little—”

She glared at him for another second before rolling her eyes and turning back around. “You’re so lucky I have better things to do than argue with you.”

Gojo hummed. “Mm. Seems like you’re still here, though.”

She clenched her fists, muttering something under her breath about insufferable humans.

She walked in silence for a while, probably hoping Gojo would get bored and leave her alone. That was adorable. Like he was the kind of guy to walk away from something this interesting.

After a few minutes, she finally sighed and turned to look at him. “Alright, human—what are you even doing here?”

Gojo blinked. “Huh? Oh. Hunting, obviously.”

After a moment, he tilted his head. “So… how long have you been coming here?”

She eyed him warily. “Why do you care?”

Gojo shrugged. “Curiosity. Humor me.”

She exhaled sharply, clearly debating whether answering him was even worth her time. Finally, she muttered, “Years.”

Gojo blinked. “Years?”

She shot him a look. “Yes. Why?”

Gojo gestured around dramatically. “Because I’ve been hunting here for a long time, too, and I’ve never seen you before.”

She rolled her eyes. “Clearly.”

Gojo narrowed his eyes. “So where’ve you been hiding, huh? Are you some kind of stealth fairy?”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “No, you idiot. I come at night.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow. “At night?”

She nodded. “It’s quieter. No humans stomping around, killing things.”

Gojo smirked. “Ouch. That felt personal.”

She ignored him. “It’s peaceful when the moon is out. The forest belongs to itself again. No arrows flying, no traps waiting, no…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “It’s just… better.”

Gojo hummed, tapping his chin. “Huh. Never figured fairies for night owls.”

She gave him a deadpan look. “You figured nothing because you didn’t even believe I existed five minutes ago.”

Gojo grinned. “Touché.”

Silence settled between them, but this time, it wasn’t hostile. Gojo watched her, something unreadable in his expression.

Years. She had been here for years, and he never even noticed. How was that possible? And more importantly…

Why did that bother him?

Gojo tilted his head, watching her with renewed curiosity. “So, you’ve been coming here for years, huh?”

She didn’t respond, just kept walking.

His grin widened. “Alright, next question—how old are you?”

She scoffed. “Not answering that.”

Gojo smirked. “Oh? Why? Is it a fairy secret? Or are you just—” He gasped dramatically. “Wait. Don’t tell me you’re, like, a hundred years old or something.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not.”

“Two hundred?”

“No.”

“Five hundred?”

“Oh my god.”

Gojo tapped his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “Then… judging by your height, I’d say… what, fifteen? Maybe sixteen?”

She froze.

Slowly, she turned to glare at him, pure offense in her eyes. “I’m twenty-two!”

Gojo grinned like he knew that would get a reaction. “Ohhh, there it is.”

Her wings fluttered aggressively. “You are so irritating.”

Gojo shrugged, still smirking. “Hey, I was just guessing. But wow, twenty-two? You sure?”

She clenched her fists. “Yes!”

Gojo hummed, looking at her like he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Mmm. I dunno. You kinda give off little sister energy.”

Her eye twitched. “Say that again, and I will dropkick you.”

Gojo snorted. “I’d like to see you try, shortstack.”

Her wings flared. “I hate you.”

“Nah,” Gojo said casually, hands behind his head. “You just wish you did.”

She stopped abruptly, turning to face him with an exasperated sigh. “And by the way,” she huffed, “can you stop calling me random nicknames? I have a name, you know.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh? You do?”

She folded her arms. “Obviously.”

He leaned in slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Well then, mysterious fairy, what is it?”

She introduced herself in annoyance, voice clipped and impatient.

Gojo blinked, then grinned. “Huh. That’s actually a really nice name.”

She gave him a flat look. “Don’t make it weird.”

“Oh, never,” he said, hand over his heart. Then, after a beat, his smirk deepened. “Alright then, fairy girl.”

Her eye twitched. “I just told you my name.”

“Yeah, and I heard it,” Gojo said casually. “But, y’know, ‘fairy girl’ just suits you better.”

She groaned, turning back around. “You’re impossible.”

“Or magical,” Gojo shot back, walking beside her. “You did call me stupid earlier, so maybe I just forgot your name already.”

She didn’t even dignify that with a response.

Gojo grinned, thoroughly enjoying himself. “Alright, how about winged menace? Tiny terror? Ooh, what about sparkles?”

She stopped so fast that Gojo nearly bumped into her. Slowly, she turned, her glare sharp enough to cut. “Call me that, and I swear, I will bury you in this forest.”

Gojo pressed his lips together, looking like he was really fighting back laughter. “Alright, alright. No ‘sparkles.’”

She exhaled sharply, resuming her pace.

Gojo let the silence linger for a few moments before grinning.

“…But pixie is still on the table, right?”

She didn’t answer. She was too busy resisting the urge to strangle him.

She kept walking, clearly trying to ignore him, but Gojo was nothing if not persistent.

“Well,” he said, stretching his arms behind his head, “since you were kind enough to introduce yourself, it’s only fair I do the same.”

She shot him a dry look. “I don’t actually care.”

Gojo ignored that completely. “Satoru Gojo. Best hunter in these lands, possibly the most handsome man you’ll ever meet, and definitely the funniest.”

She stared at him, unimpressed. “You really just talk like that, huh?”

Gojo grinned. “What can I say? Some people are born to be great.”

She sighed, muttering, “And some people are born to be insufferable.”

Gojo gasped dramatically. “Wow. Rude.”

She kept walking.

Gojo smirked. “Anyway, as I was saying—I’m twenty-four, I live alone, and I technically don’t have to hunt that much, but hey, a man’s gotta make a living.”

She side-eyed him. “You hunt for sport?”

Gojo scoffed. “What? No. I hunt to survive. But if I happen to look really cool doing it, that’s just a bonus.”

She exhaled sharply. “Right. Of course.”

Gojo continued, completely unfazed. “I don’t really like dealing with people, which is why I live on my own. Less drama, less noise. Just me and the great outdoors.” He spread his arms dramatically. “Peaceful, right?”

She glanced at him. “You? Living in peace? Hard to imagine.”

Gojo chuckled. “Alright, fair point. But hey, I could be worse. I could be some grumpy old hunter who never cracks a joke.”

“I think I’d prefer that.”

“Ouch,” Gojo laughed. “You wound me.”

She rolled her eyes and kept walking.

Gojo, of course, followed right after her, still talking.

“Anyway, what else? Oh! I have amazing eyesight. You might’ve noticed.”

“Didn’t ask.”

“And I’m ridiculously strong. Seriously, I could probably carry you and your wings with one arm.”

“Not happening.”

“And, best of all—” Gojo grinned, stepping in front of her and walking backward so he could face her directly— “I’m really fun to be around.”

She stared at him blankly. “You’re really something, alright.”

Gojo smirked, absolutely taking that as a compliment. “See? You’re warming up to me already.”

She groaned. “You are so lucky I have more important things to deal with.”

Gojo chuckled, hands behind his head. “I am lucky. Lucky I found a real-life fairy to bother for the rest of the day.”

She let out a long breath, as if gathering every ounce of patience she had left.

Gojo just grinned, completely entertained. ThisGojo walked alongside her, hands behind his head, still grinning like he had all the time in the world. “So, fairy girl, where do you live?”

She glanced at him, clearly suspicious. “In the forest.”

Gojo snorted. “Yeah, obviously. But I mean, where’s your house?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her gaze flickered ahead, wings shifting slightly as she kept walking.

Gojo raised an eyebrow. “What? You don’t wanna tell me? Afraid I’ll crash at your place? I promise I don’t take up much space.”

Still, no response.

Gojo slowed his pace slightly, watching her carefully. “Wait… do fairies even live in houses? Do you guys have little tree villages? Hollow logs? Underground tunnels? Ooooh, or do you sleep in giant flower petals?”

She let out a sharp sigh before finally answering, voice quiet.

“…I don’t have one.”

Gojo blinked.

For once, he didn’t have a snarky response ready.

She kept walking like she hadn’t just dropped that information so casually, like it wasn’t something strange or concerning.

Gojo, of course, wasn’t about to let it slide.

“…Wait. What do you mean you don’t have one?” He frowned. “Like, at all?”

She didn’t look at him. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

Gojo narrowed his eyes slightly, processing that. No house. Nowhere to go. Nowhere she belonged.

Something about that didn’t sit right with him.

And for the first time since meeting her, his teasing grin completely disappeared.

Gojo stared at her, still processing the fact that she didn’t have a home. Then, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, he grinned and said, “Woah. You can live at my place.”

She stopped walking.

Gojo kept going. “It’s big enough for us, and I am an excellent host. I can take care of you—make sure you have food, a warm bed, maybe even—”

She turned to him with a look of pure disgust.

“First of all, no way am I living with someone like you.”

Gojo clutched his chest dramatically. “Ouch.”

“And second,” she continued, rolling her eyes, “I can’t leave the forest.”

Gojo frowned. “Why not?”

She gave him a look like he was dense. “Because if humans saw me, they’d hunt me. Or—or worse. I don’t even want to know what they’d do.”

Gojo blinked, tilting his head. “I mean… I’m also a human?”

She hesitated.

Just for a second.

Then, without meeting his eyes, she muttered, “You’re different.”

Gojo stared at her, something unreadable flashing across his face.

She exhaled, shaking her head slightly. “And please… don’t tell anyone about me, okay?” Her voice softened just a little. “Not like they’d believe you anyway.”

Gojo watched her carefully, noting the way her wings folded slightly, as if she was trying to make herself smaller.

Then, with a smirk, he shoved his hands into his pockets and said, “Don’t worry, pixie. Your secret’s safe with me.”

She groaned. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

Gojo chuckled. “Yeah, yeah.”

But despite his teasing, something in his expression had shifted.

And for reasons he didn’t quite understand yet… he meant what he said.

Gojo kept walking beside her, his usual smirk still present but his mind running with thoughts he couldn’t quite shake. She really had nowhere to go? She couldn’t even leave the forest?

That… didn’t sit right with him.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the rustling leaves and the occasional chirp of whatever birds were still left in this part of the forest.

Then Gojo broke the silence.

“So,” he started, tilting his head at her, “you’ve been hiding here for years, huh? Just… out here, alone?”

She didn’t look at him. “I’m not alone.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow. “Oh? You got a secret fairy society somewhere?”

She rolled her eyes. “No. But I don’t need one.”

Gojo hummed, unconvinced. “Must get kinda lonely, though.”

She stiffened slightly.

It was small—barely noticeable—but Gojo caught it.

“…It’s not so bad,” she muttered after a while.

Gojo watched her carefully.

Then, out of nowhere, he grinned and threw an arm over her shoulder. “Well, lucky for you, you’ve got me now!”

She immediately shoved him off. “Don’t touch me!”

Gojo burst out laughing, hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright! No touching the fairy, got it.”

She scowled. “You are the worst.”

“Aw, come on, I’m a great companion!” He smirked. “Super fun, super strong, and super annoying. The full package.”

She groaned. “Why are you still following me?”

Gojo stretched his arms behind his head. “Dunno. Maybe I’m just curious.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Curious about what?”

Gojo shrugged. “Dunno yet. Guess I’ll find out.”

She sighed heavily, clearly realizing he had no plans of leaving her alone anytime soon.

Gojo chuckled.

For some reason, that thought didn’t bother him one bit.

She sighed, her gaze dropping to the forest floor as they walked. Then, almost too quietly, she muttered, “But… I do want to go outside the forest.”

Gojo’s brows lifted slightly in surprise.

“But I’m scared,” she admitted, voice softer now. “If someone saw me—” She shook her head, cutting herself off. “I don’t know what they’d do.”

Gojo watched her carefully, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

He wasn’t sure why, but the thought of her being scared—of her being trapped here—didn’t sit right with him.

And maybe he should’ve thought it through more, maybe he should’ve considered what he was about to offer—

But he didn’t.

Instead, he grinned, stepping in front of her and bending slightly so they were eye level. “Then let me do it for you.”

She blinked, taken aback. “What?”

Gojo smirked. “You wanna see the outside world, right?” He tapped his chest. “I’ll take you.”

She stared at him, clearly trying to figure out if he was joking. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am.” His grin widened. “C’mon. Who better to sneak you out than me?”

She hesitated, her wings twitching slightly. “You’re a human.”

Gojo tilted his head. “Yeah. And?”

She frowned. “You know why that’s a problem.”

Gojo chuckled. “Relax. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.” His voice was still teasing, still playful, but underneath it was something else—something solid.

She searched his face for a long moment, uncertain.

He let her think. Let her weigh the idea, weigh him.

Then, slowly, she exhaled and looked away. “…It’s not that simple.”

Gojo just smirked. “Maybe not.” He straightened up, hands on his hips. “But hey, lucky for you, I love complicated things.”

She sighed heavily, like she already regretted this conversation. “You’re ridiculous.”

Gojo chuckled, turning to walk beside her again. “And yet, you still haven’t said no.”

She didn’t reply.

Gojo glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his smirk softening just a little.

He didn’t know why he cared so much.

But he did.

And that was enough.

➽──────────────❥

You sat peacefully on a thick tree branch, the cool morning breeze brushing against your skin as you ran your fingers gently over the feathers of a small bird perched beside you. It chirped softly, pressing into your touch, unbothered by your presence.

This was your routine—finding solace in the quiet of the forest, away from the chaos, away from—

"Oi! Fairy girl!"

Your peace shattered instantly.

You stiffened, closing your eyes briefly, exhaling through your nose. Of course.

He came.

Satoru Gojo.

You glanced down, and sure enough, there he was, standing beneath your tree, looking just as insufferable as ever. His usual grin was present, but something else caught your attention—he was holding a brown cloak in his hand, waving it slightly.

You narrowed your eyes. "What are you doing here?"

Gojo smirked. "What, no ‘good morning’?"

You sighed, shifting slightly on the branch. "Gojo."

His grin widened. "That’s better."

You rolled your eyes. "Why are you here?"

Gojo held up the cape. "Brought you a gift."

You blinked. "…A what?"

"A cape," he said casually, shaking it out. "You did say you wanted to go outside the forest, right?"

You hesitated.

Gojo smirked. "Figured you’d need a disguise. Y’know, since your very obvious wings might make people lose their minds."

You frowned, eyeing the fabric warily. "And you just… had that lying around?"

Gojo shrugged. "Not exactly. But I may have borrowed it."

You scoffed. "You stole it, didn’t you?"

Gojo gasped dramatically. "Excuse me! I acquired it. Totally different thing."

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "You’re impossible."

Gojo chuckled, stepping closer. "C’mon. Try it on."

You eyed him suspiciously, but curiosity got the better of you. With a sigh, you leapt down from the branch, landing lightly on your feet in front of him.

Gojo handed you the cloak, watching as you hesitantly draped it over your shoulders. The fabric was thick but surprisingly soft, and when you adjusted it, it covered your wings completely.

Gojo grinned. "See? Looks good on you. Almost makes you look normal."

You shot him a glare. "Gee, thanks."

He chuckled. "So, what do you think? Ready to step out of the forest?"

You hesitated again, gripping the fabric slightly.

Gojo watched you carefully, his usual playfulness still there, but something else lingered in his expression—something patient.

You exhaled. "Maybe."

Gojo smirked. "Maybe is a good start."

You adjusted the cloak slightly, shifting your shoulders. The fabric was thick and heavy, pressing against your wings in a way that wasn’t exactly painful but definitely uncomfortable.

“…It’s kinda uncomfortable for my wings,” you muttered, frowning as you tried to reposition them beneath the fabric. “Feels weird.”

Gojo hummed, tilting his head as he watched you. “Yeah, I figured that might be a problem.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Then why didn’t you get something better?”

Gojo smirked. “What, and rob an entire tailor’s shop? I’m not that much of a criminal.”

You scoffed. “Debatable.”

Gojo laughed, but then his grin shifted into something a little more thoughtful. “Still, even with the cape, people might get suspicious.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

Gojo gestured vaguely. “You know, seeing me walking around with a girl they’ve never seen before? Might raise some eyebrows.”

You blinked, suddenly realizing the flaw in his plan. “Oh.”

Gojo grinned. “Yeah. I mean, I am quite the handsome and mysterious man—people tend to notice me.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not the issue.”

He smirked. “You sure? Could be a great excuse to say you’re my secret lover.”

Your wings twitched under the cloak. “I will punch you.”

Gojo laughed. “Alright, alright. No need for violence, pixie.”

You groaned. “Ugh, we’re gonna get caught before we even try at this rate.”

Gojo tapped his chin. “Hmm. Guess we need a cover story, huh?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Do I even want to know what you’re thinking?”

Gojo grinned. “Oh, I’ve got plenty of ideas.”

You had a feeling you were about to regret everything.

You walked beside Gojo, your hands gripping the edges of the cloak as you stepped out of the forest for the first time in years. The open air felt different—less wild, less free. The towering trees were replaced by open roads, stone pathways leading toward a town that seemed to hum with life.

As you approached, the first thing you noticed was the people.

Children ran barefoot through the streets, their laughter echoing as they weaved between market stalls. Vendors called out their wares—fresh bread, spices, handwoven fabrics—all filling the air with an odd but strangely comforting mix of scents. Women strolled by in elegant dresses, their skirts swishing with every step, their hair pinned in intricate styles as they gossiped with one another. The faint melody of a musician’s tune drifted through the air, blending into the sound of horses trotting down the cobbled paths.

It was… overwhelming.

You kept your head down, pressing the hood of the cloak lower over your face as you walked closer beside Gojo.

He noticed. Of course he did.

“Nervous?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement.

You scowled. “No.”

Gojo smirked. “Right. That’s why you’re clinging to that cloak like it’s your lifeline.”

You huffed, loosening your grip slightly but still keeping your pace quick. “People are staring.”

Gojo chuckled. “They’re curious. That’s normal.”

“Exactly,” you muttered. “That’s bad.”

Gojo just shrugged, walking with that same relaxed confidence he always had, completely unbothered. “Relax. Just stick with me. No one’s gonna do anything.”

That was easy for him to say.

You swallowed, ignoring the way a few passing townsfolk gave you curious glances.

You had made it this far.

Now you just had to blend in.

As you walked deeper into town, your nerves were starting to get the better of you. Every passing glance felt like it lasted too long, every whispered conversation felt like it was about you.

Then, without warning—

Gojo grabbed your hand.

You immediately tensed. “What are you—?”

“Relax,” he said smoothly, his grip firm but not forceful. “You’re looking too jumpy. This’ll make you seem less suspicious.”

You frowned, trying to pull away. “I don’t need your help blending in.”

Gojo smirked, effortlessly keeping his hold. “Oh, really? Because right now, you look like you just walked into civilization for the first time in your life.”

You glared at him. “That’s because I did.”

Gojo chuckled. “Exactly. Which is why you should listen to me.”

You tried again to yank your hand back. “This is unnecessary.”

He didn’t let go. “It’s convincing.”

You huffed, wings twitching uncomfortably beneath the cloak. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Gojo grinned. “A little, yeah.”

You groaned, giving up the struggle. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are, holding my hand.”

“I’m not—you are—” You shut your mouth, inhaled deeply, and faced forward. “Whatever. Just… don’t make it weird.”

Gojo squeezed your hand lightly. “No promises.”

You were so going to regret this.

➽──────────────❥

Gojo wasted no time leading you through the bustling streets, completely in his element while you tried your best to blend in. He was annoyingly casual about the whole thing, weaving effortlessly through the crowd, dragging you along as if this were just another ordinary day.

He stopped at a food stall first, handing the vendor a few coins before turning to you with a smug grin. “Here. Try this.”

You eyed the small pastry in his hand, then glanced at him suspiciously. “What is it?”

“Good,” he said simply, shoving it toward you.

You hesitated but took a cautious bite. The soft, flaky crust melted in your mouth, the filling warm and sweet with a hint of spice. Your eyes widened slightly—it was actually delicious.

Gojo smirked. “Told you.”

You tried to keep your expression neutral, swallowing the bite before muttering, “…It’s alright.”

Gojo laughed. “You’re a terrible liar.”

And so it continued.

He dragged you from stall to stall, making you try different things—fruits so sweet they made your lips tingle, roasted nuts coated in honey, warm bread fresh from the oven. Every time you protested, he would shove something else into your hands, grinning like a child as he watched you try new flavors.

You were starting to suspect this wasn’t about “blending in” at all—he just wanted an excuse to feed you.

He guided you through the winding streets, pointing out different places—where to get the best food, which vendor had the softest fabrics, which alleyways to avoid unless you wanted to get robbed (which he said with way too much amusement).

And then, of course, people started noticing.

It started with whispers. Curious glances.

And then finally—

“Hey, Gojo,” a passing merchant called out, raising an eyebrow. “Who’s this girl with you?”

You stiffened. Your heart picked up pace. Shit.

More people turned to look, the attention settling heavily on you. Gojo, of course, looked completely unbothered.

Then he smiled. And opened his mouth.

“Oh, her?” He pulled you slightly closer, tilting his head as if the answer was obvious.

“My secret lover, not secret anymore though—”

Silence.

Every single person around you froze.

Eyes widened. Mouths dropped open.

The air grew thick with shock.

You blinked, your brain momentarily unable to process what he had just said.

Then—

Your eyebrow twitched.

Oh god. He really said that.

Gojo just grinned, clearly entertained by everyone’s reaction. He squeezed your hand lightly, as if sealing the deal.

You, on the other hand, were one second away from killing him.

Your fingers curled into a fist. Your wings twitched violently beneath the cloak.

Oh, he was so dead.

And yet, Gojo just chuckled, completely ignoring the way you were vibrating with barely restrained rage.

"What?" he said innocently, looking around at the stunned crowd. “Is that so hard to believe?”

You were so going to murder him in broad daylight.

The second the words left Gojo’s mouth, the questions exploded.

“Wait—seriously?”

“Gojo, since when?!”

“Where’s she from?”

“Why haven’t we seen her before?”

You stiffened as the crowd suddenly closed in, eager for answers. Oh god, what had he done?

Gojo, of course, was perfectly relaxed, grinning like he was enjoying every second of this. “She’s from a neighboring town,” he said smoothly, not missing a beat. “That’s why you haven’t seen her before.”

People nodded like that made perfect sense.

You, meanwhile, were standing there like a deer caught in torchlight, unable to do anything. You couldn’t deny it. Couldn’t argue. Couldn’t even glare at him properly because all eyes were on you.

You had no choice but to go along with it.

Gojo was still talking, still lying effortlessly, answering every question thrown his way.

“How long have you two been together?”

“A while now,” Gojo replied, slinging an arm around your shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You nearly choked.

He was enjoying this too much.

Then, someone laughed—a young man standing by one of the market stalls, shaking his head in amusement. “Damn, Gojo,” he said, grinning. “You really broke all the ladies’ hearts, huh?”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd.

Of course he’d be popular.

You hated to admit it, but… Gojo was handsome.

Annoyingly so.

His bright blue eyes, his sharp features, the way his white hair somehow looked effortlessly perfect—he had the kind of beauty that stood out, that demanded attention. Even in a town full of people, he was the person you’d notice first.

You hated that you noticed.

Gojo just laughed, completely unfazed. “Ahh, what can I say?” he sighed dramatically. “It was bound to happen eventually.”

More laughter, more teasing.

You, on the other hand, were still recovering from the fact that he had just made you his “lover” in front of half the town.

This was not how you expected today to go.

And judging by the way Gojo was still smirking, you had a very bad feeling that this wasn’t over yet.

You could feel their eyes on you.

The women in the crowd—some subtle, some not—were all staring. Some whispered to each other, casting quick glances your way, while others openly examined you, their expressions ranging from curiosity to thinly veiled judgment.

You shifted slightly under the weight of their stares, resisting the urge to pull your hood lower, fidgeting with it.

It made sense. Gojo was handsome, charming, and irritatingly confident. He was the type of person who naturally drew attention, the kind who could have anyone he wanted—so why had he suddenly claimed you?

The disbelief in their gazes said it all.

You clenched your jaw, pretending not to notice the way some of them whispered behind their hands.

Gojo, meanwhile, was completely unfazed.

If he noticed the way the women were sizing you up, he didn’t acknowledge it. He just stood there, grinning like this was the most fun he’d had in ages.

You, on the other hand, were not having fun.

Not only were you stuck in this ridiculous situation, but now you were also dealing with the silent judgment of people who had probably spent years fawning over him.

Great. Just great.

You subtly exhaled, trying to ignore it.

But the longer it went on, the more you wanted to strangle the man standing beside you.

And judging by the glint of amusement in his eyes, he knew it.

You exhaled slowly, keeping your expression neutral as Gojo continued to entertain the crowd like this was his personal stage.

The questions didn’t stop.

“Where did you two meet?”

Gojo hummed, tapping his chin. “Ah, it’s quite the romantic story, actually—”

You shot him a warning glare.

He smirked. “—but that’s a secret.”

The crowd groaned, clearly disappointed but still eating up every word he fed them.

You, meanwhile, were dying inside.

The stares from the women hadn’t stopped. Some of them had their arms crossed, unimpressed. Others whispered behind their hands, their eyes flickering between you and Gojo like they were trying to make sense of this unbelievable pairing.

And the worst part?

Gojo knew it.

You could see it in the way he smirked, the way his grip on your hand tightened slightly, as if to prove a point.

Oh, he was enjoying this way too much.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You tugged at his arm, lowering your voice so only he could hear.

“Enough,” you hissed. “Can we go now?”

Gojo glanced at you, clearly amused. “Hmm? What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Your eye twitched. “I will kill you.”

Gojo laughed. Actually laughed.

The crowd looked between you, interest piqued.

“You two are adorable,” one of the older women in the market cooed.

Gojo grinned. “Aren’t we?”

You resisted the very strong urge to stomp on his foot.

Instead, you yanked at his sleeve again, hissing, “If you don’t walk away in the next five seconds, I swear—”

Gojo chuckled, finally relenting. “Alright, alright. Let’s go.”

With that, he pulled you through the crowd, his hand still firmly holding onto yours, as if to make sure you couldn’t escape just yet.

The stares followed you as you walked away.

You could still feel them.

And as Gojo led you down another street, humming to himself like nothing had happened, you made a silent vow—

You were getting back at him for this.

As soon as you were far enough from the crowd, without hesitation—

SMACK.

Your hand came down hard on Gojo’s head.

“Ow—hey!” He stumbled slightly, rubbing the spot with an exaggerated wince. “What was that for?”

You shot him a look. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe for LYING TO HALF THE TOWN?!”

Gojo blinked. Then smirked. “Ohhh, that?”

Your eye twitched. “YES, THAT.”

He chuckled, still rubbing his head. “Damn, fairy girl, you’re stronger than you look.”

“I should’ve hit you harder.”

Gojo grinned. “Aww, but then I’d have to tell everyone my lover is abusing me.”

You lunged at him.

Gojo dodged, laughing as he raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright! Relax! It was just a joke!”

“Oh, just a joke?” You crossed your arms, glaring. “Do you have any idea what you just did?!”

Gojo tilted his head. “Uh… made you a local celebrity?”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Now the whole town thinks we’re together!”

Gojo shrugged. “Eh, could be worse.”

You looked at him like you wanted to strangle him. “How?"

He smirked. “Well, technically, I could’ve said we were married.”

You gaped at him in horror.

Gojo burst out laughing.

“Ohhh, your face—” He wiped a fake tear from his eye, still grinning. “That was priceless.”

You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself before you actually killed him.

Gojo smirked, tilting his head. “You’re really worked up over this, huh?”

You glared. “Because now people are going to keep asking about it! The women in town are already mad!”

Gojo hummed, amused. “Jealous, you think?”

“Oh, definitely,” you deadpanned. “I mean, look at you. Handsome, charming, the worst person I’ve ever met—”

Gojo placed a hand on his chest. “Aw, stop, you’re making me blush.”

You were so close to knocking him out.

“Look,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Just—just fix this, okay?”

Gojo raised an eyebrow. “Fix it?”

“Yes! Tell them you were lying, or joking, or—something!”

Gojo just grinned. “Ehhh… I dunno.”

Your hands curled into fists. “Gojo.”

He leaned in slightly, still smirking. “But you haven’t denied it, have you?”

Your breath caught for a second.

Then—

You shoved him so hard that he actually stumbled back, laughing.

“Fix it.”

Gojo just winked. “No promises.”

You hated him.

You really did.

And the worst part?

He knew it.

Gojo was still grinning, completely unbothered by the fact that you had just smacked him.

Then, as if he hadn’t just caused chaos, he stretched lazily and said, “Alright, let’s go to my place.”

You blinked. “What?”

Gojo looked at you like it was obvious. “My house. You know, where I live? Where we can not stand in the middle of town while you plot my murder?”

You scowled. “I don’t need to go to your house.”

Gojo smirked. “Oh, so you want to stay out here where people might keep asking about us?”

Your lips pressed together.

Damn him.

“…Fine,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “But only because I need to sit somewhere and recover from the disaster you just caused.”

Gojo chuckled. “Sure, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, pixie.”

You shot him a glare, but he just grinned and led the way.

The walk to his home wasn’t long, but by the time you arrived, you were… surprised.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but the small house in front of you wasn’t anything extravagant. It wasn’t large or overly fancy, but it had a certain charm to it. The wooden walls looked well-maintained, the small porch had a few crates stacked neatly against the side, and a window had soft, warm light spilling out from within.

It looked… cozy.

You glanced at Gojo, raising an eyebrow. “This is your place?”

He grinned. “What? Expecting a castle?”

You huffed. “No. Just… thought it’d be messier.”

Gojo gasped dramatically. “Wow. You really don’t think highly of me, huh?”

You smirked. “Not even a little.”

He laughed, shaking his head as he pushed the door open. “Well, come on in. Mi casa es tu casa, fairy girl.”

You rolled your eyes but followed him inside.

And for the first time, you stepped into his world.

The moment Gojo pushed the door open, you stepped inside cautiously, taking in your surroundings.

It was… not what you expected.

The space was small but warm, with wooden beams overhead and stone walls that gave it a sturdy, lived-in feel. A wooden dining table sat at the center, covered with a checkered cloth, a half-empty bottle of wine resting on it like it had been forgotten there. Shelves lined the walls, stocked with jars, plates, and random trinkets, while an old clock ticked softly above the fireplace. The scent of dried herbs and faint traces of smoke from the stove lingered in the air, making the place feel oddly inviting.

Your gaze drifted to the kitchen area, where pots and pans hung neatly from hooks, and sunlight filtered through a small window, casting a golden glow across the room. Everything had a simple charm to it—unexpectedly cute, even.

“…Huh.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow, shutting the door behind him. “What?”

You glanced at him. “I don’t know. I just… thought you’d live in more of a mess.”

Gojo gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “Wow. So little faith in me.”

You smirked. “I mean, considering the way you act, I expected, I don’t know—half-eaten food lying around, arrows stuck in the walls, maybe a dead animal on the floor.”

Gojo snorted. “I am a hunter, not a wild animal.”

You hummed, unconvinced, as you wandered toward the table, brushing your fingers over the wooden surface. “It’s… cute.”

Gojo smirked. “Oh? You think I’m cute?”

You turned to him with a deadpan expression. “The house.”

Gojo chuckled, clearly entertained. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. You’re too proud to admit I’ve got taste.”

You rolled your eyes and took a seat at the table. The chair creaked slightly under your weight, but it was sturdy, just like everything else in this place.

Gojo walked over to the kitchen, grabbing a couple of mugs from a shelf. “Tea?”

You blinked. “You drink tea?”

Gojo smirked over his shoulder. “What, did you think I just survive off the thrill of the hunt and sheer charisma?”

“…Yes.”

He laughed. “Fair. But no. I drink tea, and so do you now.” He placed a cup in front of you before sitting across the table, resting his chin in his palm.

For the first time since stepping into town, you felt yourself relax just a little.

Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad.

As you sat at the wooden table, fingers curling around the warm mug Gojo had placed in front of you, a strange feeling settled in your chest.

Comfort.

You weren’t sure why, but something about this place—this home—felt… good. Safe. Like it had been lived in, like it had stories within its walls. It wasn’t grand or extravagant, but it had warmth. The soft ticking of the clock, the scent of herbs in the air, the way the light spilled gently through the window—it all felt oddly familiar.

Like home.

You weren’t supposed to feel that way. Not outside the forest. Not in a human’s house. And yet…

You exhaled slowly, letting yourself sink into the moment.

Gojo, of course, noticed. He leaned back in his chair, watching you with a lazy smirk. “Comfy?”

You shot him a look. “No.”

His grin widened. “Liar.”

You huffed, sipping your tea to avoid answering. It was warm, a little bitter, but soothing in a way you hadn’t expected.

Gojo chuckled, but for once, he didn’t push.

For a moment, the two of you sat there, just existing in the quiet.

And for the first time in a long time… you didn’t feel so out of place.

The warmth of the tea seeped through the cup into your fingers, and for a moment, you let yourself enjoy it—the quiet, the stillness, the way the air inside this small home felt different from the outside world.

Gojo leaned back in his chair, watching you over the rim of his mug. “Y’know,” he started, voice smooth and teasing, “for someone who acted like they hated coming here, you’re looking awfully comfortable.

You shot him a side glance, unimpressed. “I can leave.”

Gojo smirked. “Yeah? And go where?”

That shut you up.

He knew you had nowhere else to be. That the forest was the only place you ever returned to, and even that wasn’t really a home.

You set your mug down, crossing your arms. “Don’t think this means I like you.”

Gojo grinned. “Oh, obviously. You just like my house.”

You scoffed, looking away. “Maybe.”

Gojo chuckled, but his expression softened slightly as he rested his chin in his palm, watching you. “Well, if it makes you feel any better,” he said, voice quieter this time, “you can stay as long as you want.”

You blinked, caught off guard.

He said it so casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like the idea of you being here, in his space, wasn’t strange at all.

You hesitated, glancing down at your cup. “…I won’t stay long.”

Gojo just smirked. “We’ll see about that.”

And for once, you didn’t argue.

The warmth of the tea, the flickering light from the stove, the faint creaks of the wooden house settling—it all felt strangely calm.

Too calm.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there, letting the silence stretch between you and Gojo. But for once, he wasn’t talking. He just leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head, watching you with that lazy, unreadable expression.

You didn’t like it.

It felt like he was waiting for something.

“…What?” you muttered, raising an eyebrow.

Gojo smirked. “Nothing.”

You scowled. “Then stop looking at me like that.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he stood up, grabbing your empty mug along with his. “Alright, alright. No need to get all shy, fairy girl.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the way your stomach twisted slightly at his words.

As he turned away, moving toward the small sink, you let your gaze drift around the house once more. The warmth, the familiarity of it—it was dangerous. It made you forget, just for a second, that you didn’t belong here.

You exhaled, standing up as well.

You wouldn’t get too comfortable.

Because sooner or later… you’d have to leave.

A/n- Honestly, writing this took longer than I expected, but I had so much fun with it. Gojo is already a menace, and reader is already so done with him, lmao. But hey, she did feel comfortable at his place… wonder what that means. I hope I didn't disappointed y'all:>

Chapter 2 is gonna be interesting, so stay tuned! And let me know what you think so far, have a great day🩷🫶

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*Carlisle’s POV*

The first time I saw her, I thought I was imagining it. It wouldn’t have been the strangest thing I ever experienced- after three centuries of immortality, of wars and plagues and miracles disguised as tragedies, very little surprised me anymore. Still, when a streak of silver light darted through the trees at the edge of the meadow near Forks, I paused mid-step. 

The Olympic forest was hushed in that particular way it always was after rain. Moss glowed emerald beneath the towering evergreens, and the air smelled like damp earth and cedar sap. I had been out hunting alone, enjoying the stillness, letting the quiet wash over me. 

The light came again, quick, luminous, deliberate. Not pray. Not a reflection. Alive. I turned toward it slowly, careful not to startle whatever creature had chosen to reveal itself. My golden eyes softened rather than sharpened, my posture relaxed instead of coiled. 

“I won’t harm you.” I said gently, my voice carrying easily through the trees. 

Silence. Then- A shimmer in the air directly in front of me, as if someone had disturbed the fabric of the world itself. And she stepped out. She was human-sized- perhaps a little on the shorter side- but unmistakably not human. Gossamer wings, translucent and iridescent, unfurled from her back like spun glass, catching the light. They weren’t delicate in the fragile sense; they moved with quiet strength, each subtle flick stirring the forest air. Her skin held a faint luminescence, as though moonlight had taken root beneath it. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders, threaded with tiny sparks that blinked in and out like distant stars. Her eyes met mine. Not fearful. Curious. I had met kings and criminals, saints and monsters… but never anything like her. 

“Well…” She said after a moment, hands settling on her hips. 

“You’re not what I expected.” 

I blinked, then smiled. 

“I could say the same.” 

She tilted her head, studying him openly. “You’re a vampire.” 

“Yes.” 

“Vegetarian variety.” She added thoughtfully. “You don’t smell like human blood.” 

I huffed a quiet laugh, something warm and surprised. “I’m glad to hear that.” 

A slow circle around me, she didn’t walk so much as glide, flats barely disturbing the moss. Her wings folded in neatly as she came to stand before me again. 

“You’re very bright.” She murmured. 

“That’s… not something I’ve been called before.” 

She smiled then, quick, mischievous, and breathtaking. “I don’t mean physically. Though you do sparkle a bit.” 

I followed her gaze upward to where a thin shaft of sunlight filtered through the canopy, catching faintly on my skin. “Ah.” 

“I mean inside.” She clarified softly. “You’re bright in here.” She tapped two fingers lightly over the center of my chest. If I had a heartbeat, it might have stumbled. 

“And you are?” I asked gently. 

She straightened, wings lifting slightly. “Y/N.” 

“Just Y/N?” 

“For now.” 

A thousand questions stirred in me. What was she? How did she exist? How long had she been here? But I didn’t overwhelm her with them. Instead, I extended a hand, palm up. 

“Carlisle Cullen.” 

She stared at my hand as though it were a rare artifact. 

“Are you not afraid to touch me?” 

“No.” I said simply. 

A small pause. Then she slipped her hand into mine. Her skin was warm. Not feverish. Not supernatural heat. Just warm. Like sunlight held in human form. Her fingers curled around mine, curious and firm, and the contact was so startlingly gentle that for a moment, the entire forest seemed to exhale. 

“You’re cold.” She observed. 

“Yes.” 

She didn’t pull away. Instead, she squeezed and smiled. 

The family did not react the way I had anticipated. Esme was delighted. 

“Oh, she’s beautiful.” She breathed the moment Y/N stepped through the front door of our house, wings shimmering in the soft afternoon light. Edward stared openly. Rosalie narrowed her eyes in suspicion. Jasper stood taller, assessing her like she might be a threat. Emmett grinned like Christmas had arrived early. Alice gasped and then laughed, hands flying to her mouth. 

“I knew something new was coming! I just couldn’t see it clearly!” 

“You can’t see me?” Y/N asked, confused. 

“Alice can see the future.” I explained. 

“Ohh.” Y/N smiled, fascinated. 

Alice’s head tilted. “I can’t see you properly. You’re… blurry. Like static.” 

“Fairy magic.” Y/N replied with a shrug. 

Rosalie folded her arms. “Fairy.” 

“Yes.” 

“Like Tinker Bell?” Alice asked. 

Y/N blinked. “Who?” 

Emmett snorted. 

I watched the exchange with quiet fondness, but his attention kept drifting back to her… how she moved through the house without hesitation, touching the wooden banister as though greeting an old friend, peering out the massive windows at the forest with familiarity. 

“You’ve been here before.” I realized. 

Y/N glanced at me, surprised. “You noticed.” 

“I try.” 

She stepped closer to the window, wings catching the fading light. “My kind doesn’t stay in one place long. We guard thin spaces. Places where the veil between things is soft.” 

“And Forks?” Edward asked. 

Y/N smiled faintly. “Forks is very soft.” 

Esme exchanged a look with me, concern flickering briefly, but Y/N’s presence didn’t feel threatening. If anything, the air around her hummed with a gentle vibrancy, like spring pressing against winter’s edge. 

“So you’re staying?” Emmett asked hopefully. 

Y/N hesitated. 

“I wasn’t planning to.”

I felt something tighten in my chest at that. 

“But…” She added slowly, eyes flicking toward me. “plans change.” 

Alice clapped her hands once. “She’s staying!” 

Rosalie sighed but said nothing further. 

Jasper relaxed only slightly. 

And that was how Y/N, a fairy with starlight in her hair, became part of our coven. 

I had known love before. I loved Esme deeply, eternally. Our bond was steady and unwavering- a foundation built on mutual compassion and shared values. I loved our children with fierce, paternal devotion. But what grew between Y/N and myself was different. Not replacing. Not diminishing. Just… different. 

It began quietly. Conversations in the evenings after the others dispersed- Y/N perched cross-legged on the piano bench while I sat nearby, hands folded loosely in my lap. She asked about the 1600s. I asked about her species. She told me about cities built beneath ancient oaks, about dancing on dew-covered fields before sunrise, about stars that hummed if you listened closely enough. I told her about plague wards, about Italy’s golden age, about standing alone in the snow and choosing mercy when it would have been easier to choose despair. 

“You’re very old.” She said once, not unkindly. 

“Yes.” 

“You don’t seem tired.” 

I considered that. 

“I was.” I admitted. “For a long time.” 

“And now?” 

I looked at her. She was lying her back across the piano, wings draped lazily over the polished wood, staring up at the ceiling like she could see beyond it. 

“Now, I’m not.” I said softly. 

Her gaze shifted to me. There was something in it- something ancient and understanding. 

“You’re lonely.” She murmured. 

“I have my family.” 

“Yes. But you’re lonely.” 

I didn’t argue. Instead, I rose and moved to sit beside her, close enough that her wing brushed lightly against my arm. It tingled. Not unpleasantly. Just alive. 

“You see too much.” I said gently. 

She smiled faintly. “Occupational hazard.” 

A moment passed. Then she reached out and took my hand again. This time, I didn’t hesitate. 

The first time I kissed her, it was accidental. Or at least, it began that way. She had been perched on the railing of the porch, feet dangling, wings fluttering idly as rain misted over the clearing. I stepped outside to join her, drawn by the quiet. 

“You don’t mind the rain?” I asked. 

“I like it.” She replied. “It makes everything honest.” 

I leaned against the railing beside her. “How so?” 

“It washes away pretense.” 

I studied her profile- the curve of her cheek, the faint glow at the edge of her skin. 

“You speak like someone much older than you appear.” 

She grinned. “That’s because I am.” 

I chuckled softly. 

Then thunder cracked overhead. Instinctively, she startled, just slightly, and her balance shifted. I caught her. One arm around her waist. The other braced against the railing. Her hands landed on my chest. We froze like that. Rain falling, thunder rumbling, her face inches from mine. 

“You caught me.” She whispered. 

“Always.” I replied without thinking. 

Her eyes widened. The moment stretched. Then she leaned up… and pressed her lips to mine. Warm. Soft. Alive. It was unlike any kiss I’d ever known- not just because of the temperature difference, not just because of the faint hum of magic that danced between us. But because she kissed me like I was something fragile. Something worth protecting. I kissed her back slowly, carefully, afraid to break whatever delicate thread had formed between us. When we parted, her forehead rested against mine. 

“I shouldn’t…” She murmured. 

“You don’t want to?” 

Her eyes met mine. 

“I do.” 

I exhaled slowly. 

“Then don’t let fear decide for you.” 

She studied me for a long moment. Then smiled. 

“You’re very dangerous, Carlisle Cullen.” 

I arched a brow. “Am I?” 

“Yes.” She said softly. “Because I could love you.” 

And for the first time in centuries, I felt something close to fear. Not of her, but of losing her. 

It wasn’t dramatic. Our love didn’t explode into being. It unfolded. Like spring. She brought life into the house in small ways- flowers that bloomed out of season, faint golden lights that drifted lazily through the halls at night, laughter that echoed off high ceilings. Esme adored her. Alice treated her like a puzzle she was determined to understand. Emmett asked endless questions about whether she could shrink or grow at will. (She could.) Rosalie and Jasper eventually admitted, quietly, that Y/N’s presence made the house feel warmer. Edward listened to her thoughts sometimes, though they were often layered in strange harmonics that made him tilt his head in confusion. But myself- I watched her like one might watch the sunrise. Not because I feared it wouldn’t come again. But because I understood its rarity. 

One evening, as the sky turned a deep violet outside, Y/N stood in the clearing behind the house. Her wings were fully extended. Light shimmered around her. I stepped closer, careful not to interrupt whatever quiet ritual she seemed to be performing. 

“You’re glowing brighter.” I observed. 

She glanced over her shoulder. 

“I’m anchoring.” 

“To what?” 

She hesitated. 

“Forks is thin. But I’m not meant to stay in one place long. If I choose to remain…” Her voice softened. 

“I have to bind myself.” 

My chest tightened. 

“Bind?” 

“To this world more fully. To this life.” 

“And what would that mean for you?” 

She looked at me directly. 

“It would mean I don’t return to the Courts unless I unbind.” 

Silence fell. The weight of that choice pressed heavily in the air. 

“You would give up your home?” I said quietly. 

She stepped toward me. 

“Home isn’t a place.” 

Her hand slipped into mine. 

“It’s who you choose.” 

I swallowed. 

“You shouldn’t sacrifice your nature for me.” 

She laughed softly. “Oh, Carlisle. You don’t understand. Loving you doesn’t diminish me.” 

Her free hand rose to cup my face. 

“It expands me.” 

I closed his eyes briefly, leaning into her touch. 

“I have lived many lifetimes already…” I said, voice low. “I have been many versions of myself.” 

Her thumb traced the edge of my cheekbone. 

“And?” 

I opened my eyes. 

“I’d choose you in every lifetime.”

The words settled between us, steady and unwavering. She didn’t cry. She didn’t look startled. She simply smiled. Soft. Certain. 

“I know.” She whispered. 

Then her wings flared bright. Light burst outward in a gentle wave, sweeping through the trees, through the clearing, through the very air. I didn’t flinch. I stood firm as magic wrapped around us both like a blessing. When the glow faded, she was still there. Still luminous. Still warm. But something had shifted. She felt… closer. More solid. More rooted. She exhaled slowly. 

“It’s done.” 

I searched her face. “Are you alright?” 

She nodded. 

“Yes.” 

And then she laughed, bright and free. 

“I chose you too, you know.” 

For a man who had once believed himself damned beyond redemption, who had walked alone through centuries of shadow… That was everything. 

The human city was forbidden for all fae to journey to. Not only was it dangerous to simply cross over the sea between it and your island but everything was toxic. From the buildings to the soil, the pines and red maple trees you knew so well could never grow in such a tainted place. Despite how much you were told to never enter the human city of metal and glass, you still found a way to reach it.

The elders of your flutter never told you how amazing it truly was; the streets glowed like the sun even in the darkness of the night, the humans who dressed in strange clothes with indescribable patterns and colors impossible in nature. Tall banners and colorful tents lined the streets with symbols and items you couldn't recognize. There were so many smells, collecting together into something deep and complex. It was beyond whatever could be made by nature and was indescribable .

As the night went on, you found yourself looking down at a quieter part of the city from your perch atop a tall stone crowned building. You watched the much smaller metal buildings —like carts but with nothing to pull them— go up and down the black stone path and make their loud, strange noises. You recognized the cross on the highest point of the building, the elders said it meant the building was a church but when you looked around inside, you didn't find any bells. You thought it was strange but the sheer level of rot in the wood said a lot. It was just like what your elders told you: "Man is master of progress at the price of preservation." Hiding away in tiny pockets of nature was the only way for your kind to survive up to today.

It was also a way to limit inherent fairy mischievousness.

Then, you were suddenly knocked off your perch by a massive, feathered force! Your wings managed to catch you by reflex but you were still through a yard through the air. When you turned back to where you were sitting you saw an owl. It loomed from where you were perched like a monument to an old god. Its eyes were wide, unblinking and focused on you.

"Fairy," he said finally. His voice was stern and echoing. It made you feel like a child being scolded. "You shouldn't be here."

You apologized before you realized. "I'm sorry, I just wanted to visit," you said in a small voice.

"Fairies cannot leave the island. It isn't safe," the owl said, "It is illegal." He was right, not only was it dangerous, but it was also illegal for fairies to enter 'Domain of Man'. You even wanting to visit the city was something of a crime itself.

"I know… I'm very sorry."

"Leave this place now. Return to your island or face judgment," said the owl calmly, each syllable was a threat. Two pigeons flew down to each side of the owl. Reinforcements.

"Oi! Ya' hear that glitter glues!", one pigeon shouted with a thick accent.

"Stay outta our territory, dust fly!", added the other.

You cried, "But I didn't do anything wro-!"

"Silence!" his voiced echoed. "For such frivolity of the laws, fairy, you shall face judgment." With a screech the owl dove at you with the two pigeons close behind.

The next thing you knew, you were being chased by the owl and pigeons. Forced to speed around corner and under street lamps, making dives and rises with only your tiny, insect-like fairy wings. Try as you must, you were caught by strong pigeon talons latching onto your arms. You fought and you fought like Hell but could do little more than dangle.

"Hola~" It was voice that was dark and teasing, smooth and cruel.

That wasn't one of the pigeons…

Suddenly you were jostled, something inside the pigeon snapped —a sharp, loud snap— and you were let go. Finally flying again, you watched as the bird plummeted to the streets below. You heard a loud 'bang', the pigeon corpse landed on one of the tiny moving metal building and it's blood splattered all over the roof.

You dove for shelter on one of the roofs. That was when you you saw him. He soared past you -tailed by the owl and remaining pigeon- and eclipsed the moon. He was a massive bat, maybe just as big as the owl. He spread his wings wide like a dominance display before he dove right back at his pursuers.

He went right for the other pigeon and tackled it to the roof top of the building you were hiding at. Your body cringed at the loud dragging sound but you still forced yourself to peek over the roof's lip. There you saw drag stripe of feathers and blood. Your eyes darted from the trail to the bat and his victim and back again. You heard a loud crunch and like that, the pigeon stopped fighting. Its wings dropped limply to the floor but the bat kept going. It offered no grace, in the pigeon's final moments. It just ate. The sounds of wet pops of organs being punctured and tearing of sinew were flooding your ears.

The world was spinning. Your vision kept blurring but you were able to see the bat rise from his prey -blood and pigeon viscera coating his face and dripping down his chest- and he turned to you and smiled. Every tooth was coated in thick red. Somehow you managed to snap yourself our of your terrified trance. After some stumbling from your hiding spot, you flew away as fast as your thin fairy wings could fly. You were unnoticed by the owl from before as it swooped in to attack the feeding bat.

Feeling safe enough —after you don't know how long of flying— you found a tall tower to hide in. It was the old, bell-less church from before. Crawling into the hollow mouth of one of the gargoyle statues, you saw that it opened up to the inner crawlspace of the tower. He wouldn't find you here. Just then you heard him.

"¡Sal, sal, pequeña hada!"

You gasped. It was voice that was dark and teasing, smooth and cruel.

You turned and saw the bat from before.

With him so close you were able to really see just how massive he was: twice, almost three times bigger than any fairy you've met and with a sturdy build to match wide shoulders and a muscular chest and arms. His dark brown fur was smudged with blood, mostly on his long maul. He tilted his head to the side when he saw you, almost curious as his eyes traced you up and down.

"No pienses que no te vi," he said softly with mock friendliness.

"Hello?" you forced out through quivering stutters.

When his eyes met yours, his smile got wider and his eyes got darker.

"I'm a fairy," your vice was shaking and your eyes were wet, "I'm not…! I'm not food."

The bat's eyelids lowered coyly as he cocks his head to the other side. "Of course you're not," he said as he wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist and grabbed your arm. You felt so small in his claws. "Now where are my manners? I am Emidio," he said and kissed your hand, "And what might I call you, pequeña hada?"

You gulped thickly as you smelled blood on his breath. Despite your better judgment, you gave him your name.

"Bello. Un nombre bello para una mujer bella. A flower in all but name," there was a carnal heat to his voice and a part of you stiffens. Emidio was right in front of you now. Now your height disparity was obvious -you barely reached his chest- he combed his claw through your hair and brought the fistful up to his snout, he took a deep whiff. "And you smell just as sweet," he said. You smelled blood on his breath. The metallic aftertaste made your head spin.

"That's… That's very nice of you to say," your voice was weak and trembling. You managed to pull yourself away from his hold, "But I think I should maybe leave. My family will start to miss—"

Before you could finish you were knocked to the ground. You looked down at your chest and you saw massive claw marks tore open your clothes. Your heaving breasts were exposed to the cool air, now with new long, weeping cuts across them. You looked up and were met with dark, dominating eyes.

You tried to get up -your wings flapping desperately- but you were knocked back to the floor. You were folded into a triangle: on your knees with your face to the ground and your ass in the air. Your breath was squeezed out of you with how forceful your chest as he pressed himself against your back.

You screamed when you felt him press his metal band against your shoulder, just above your wing. It was so cold and it burned into your muscles like a brand. You didn't feel the pain anymore when you smelled cooking meat.

"Trying to fly away already? Very amusing, florecita." His breath was hot in your ear.

You tried to crawl, clawing yourself out from under him but he used his claws to pin down your hands to the floor. You let out a shriek from the sudden pain of your poor hands getting crushed.

"But I plan on having you for a little longer." Then you felt something hot, hard and damp in a fleshy way grind against your privates. You quivered as you felt the weeping tip of his cock poke at your pussy lips, just barely entering.

"I have big plans for you and it would be a shame if you left so soon," he said, before thrusting his big-as-your-thigh sized cock into your unprepared cunt.

It hurt! Each thrust like a punch to your guts that got deeper and deeper. You felt felt your every muscle in your lower half get stretched to beyond their limits. His cock shoves your organs upwards in a rhythmically growing and shrinking mound under your skin. Your cheeks burned from your own tears as he fucked you mercilessly. You were ripping at the seams, feeling a trickles of blood and precum run down your thighs.

"My cock is too big for hadas… and your cunt is too tight. It can barely fit," his smooth, spiced voice now had a gravely growl to it and made your stressed muscles clench harder around him. "But it feels so good!~" he moaned.

"Too…! Too much!" you cried in a raspy whimper, "Don't—! …stop!" It was getting harder to speak from all the pressure to your chest and diaphragm.

"OOooOoooh, cariño," Emidio moaned into your ear. It made your head spin, but maybe it was from your lack of breath and the thunder-like beating of his heart didn't much help. Each pulse rang through your bones like a hammer to a bell.

"Since you insist~" he hummed, equal parts teasingly and cruelly. Emidio's furious pace eventually became uneven, like he wasn't able to keep his own tempo. Even in your fogging mind could tell he was close and it disgusted you to think about, but you were too. Just then, you came, spraying out cum in waves that gradually decreased in intensity until there was nothing left.

You cursed your body for reacting like that. You shouldn't have felt like that but you did.

Without warning, Emidio slammed his hips against you in a single bone shattering thrust. His thick spent flooded your abused pussy. You felt his semen pool in your cervix, it was so hot you felt like it would melt a hole out of your stomach. With what little room you had left in you, Emidio's cum gushed out of you in thick streams. Emidio didn't stop after his climax, he kept fucking your limp body. You felt his cum slosh against his dick. It felt like he was simultaneously fucking his cum in and out of you.

Before you could register being flipped onto your back, the sudden emptiness in your core struck you like a stone wall. From immediately going from stuffed to bursting to empty and gaping. Your combined spent dripping out of your opened hole in thick globs and puddled under you. You let out a pained moan as your stained, strained vaginal muscles flex around nothing. In that moment, you almost considered this feeling of emptiness was more painful than being filled, but that thought was short lived. In the span of a breath, you were filled to beyond capacity. With how big his cock was, your clit sat right above it and was rubbed against mercilessly.

Now on your back, you saw the fist-sized bump in your stomach disappearing and reappearing in a painful rhythm. Dizzy from being hypnotic rhythm, your head fell back onto the hard wood floor with a loud 'thunk'.

"Please… I'm begging," you managed to croak out, "Stop…!"

You just heard Emidio chuckle.

Despite the pain and the darkness, you were still able to see Emidio's face hovering, seemingly miles above you. The tapetum lucidum of his eyes made them glow in the low light like a pair of moons. Your eyes welled up with tears again, making everything blur and swirl together.

"What a precious little morsel you are, mi flor. Such a good pet," he said darkly, grabbing your face, squishing your damp and burning cheeks with one hand and adjusting legs with the other. He moved them so that your ankles were touching your bruised collar bone in a mating-press. The whole time, his cock didn't leave you longer than it took a thrust. "I could just eat you up, starting with those big, wet eyes."

Then he took a big, smothering lick across your face. Like a tentacle, Emidio's tongue slithered from your cheek to under your chin.

You cried but that just allowed Emidio entry into your mouth. His tongue was long and thick, quickly filling your mouth and inching down your throat. Your eyes went wide, feeling your jaw painfully stretch wider and wider just to accommodate Emidio and his invading tongue. When you tried to force a breath, you choked on him so you were forced to limply accept his kiss, let Emidio's tongue pump and swirl around your mouth.

His lips, his breath, his tongue, it all tasted like gore. It made you sick yet it also made you hungry for more. To your own shock, you kissed back. Emidio was pleasantly surprised by how you deepened the kiss and he rewarded you with more. You moaned around his tongue as you felt something break through the pain like a flower sprouting through a boulder. It was the feeling of ecstasy! You felt like you were melting into him. You became a pliable mass of warm, willing clay shaped by him from the inside out. That was when you felt your body tighten up all the way down to your knuckles clenching so hard they turned white, and shake uncontrollably before you sprayed your white-hot spent all over Emidio's crotch fluff.

But then he broke away and wrapped his massive claw around your neck. Emidio squeezed it warningly. You whined out something unintelligible as you reached up to him as a silent beg to kiss you again.

With hooded eyes and a sly grin, Emidio said, "Oh, you look so good like this and you're taking me so well. I think I'll keep you." His cock twitch inside you and his fur tickled your hardened clit. "For as long as we both breath, you will be my sex pet, my broodmare and, of course, my mate."

With each word you felt his hold on your throat get tighter and tighter. Every breath you took made a high pained squeak. It was getting harder by the moment to keep looking straight as your eyes began to roll back.

"Nod if you understand, cosita," Emidio ordered.

With the little strength you had left, you nodded. Then Emidio's claws finally loosened just enough for you to take a breath, which you did so eagerly. You gulped in air in loud wheezes, filling your lungs after full minutes of choking.

"Muy bien," Emidio hummed. He kissed you again, which you accepted eagerly. Your tongue swirled around his and you felt like you were swallowing Emidio's long tongue bit by bit.

Your weakened, shaking arms reached up to wrap around Emidio's thick neck. You barely had the strength to hold him. His short, fine yet dense fur was soft to the touch. The sweat on your skin made the little hairs cling to your fingers. You carded your fingers through his mane, making Emidio purr into your mouth. His purrs echoed off your insides, sending tremors all throughout your body.

Emidio's thrusts were slow now, but they were more powerful than before. It felt like his dick was going deeper and deeper each time: from the tip kissing your cervix to penetrating it.

Out…

SLAM!!

Out…

SLAM!!

Out…

SLAM!!

You never felt this level of pain before but you also never felt this level of ecstasy either. It was like finally being full when you never knew until then you were starving. It was comparable to love and you loved the feeling, or at least that was what your cum drunk mind was telling you.

You were close yet again! Your velvety inner muscles tightened around your bat lover, making him let out a loud hiss.

"Eres mío…" Emidio said between growling breaths, not even a gasp away from your lips. His lips were still wet from yours; a short string of saliva connecting you. His pace quickened: still rhythmic and dominating.

"¡…SOLO MIO!" he roared before climaxing for the second time.

In a thrust more powerful than any before, plugging you up like a cork in a bottle, his cum flooded you again. It was as alien and welcomed at it was the first time.

You looked down at your midsection, seeing a myriad of purpling bruises littering your skin. Even with your blurred vision, you saw how extended your stomach was: you looked like you were 4 months pregnant. Your hands —it felt like they were controlled by someone else— caressed your swollen stomach. Your skin was hot to the touch. When you pressed down, Emidio's cum inside you almost felt like an unpoppable bubble in your tummy.

"Don't worry yourself, cosita. You will be with pup very soon," Emidio said between heavy breaths. He brought his claw up to your face to wipe tears from your cheek.

You smiled as he nuzzled his snout into your hair. 'That would be so nice…'

Thoughts of being pregnant with Emidio's children and living on his massive cock lulled you to sleep. Before you were fully fallen, you felt him leave you. Without his fur against your skin, you felt naked beyond words. When his cock left your used opening, you whined. Unable to move any part of you, you were forced to feel Emidio's cum spill out of you.

"Tapas~" Emidio lick his lips before you fell unconscious.

EPILOGUE

You awoke to the familiar feeling of something in your mouth and the bitter taste of metal of your tongue. It tasted like meat. The smell of damp flesh was thick in the air made you wet and hungry for more. Your face was held in place by a pair of huge paws. They held you gentle enough to feel romantic, yet at the same time hard enough for you to not escape.

Not that you would want to.

Your eyes slowly opened to see that it was Emidio kissing you. Looking into his dark eyes made the night before flash before your eyes, from the horrifying start to the cervix-erupting end.

"Emidio," you moaned around his tongue. His name dripped from your lips like warm honey.

"We leave at night-fall," he said, breaking your kiss.

"What?" you mumbled. Your mind body were still too weak to do much. All you could do was limply let Emidio lay you back down on your nest(?) and wrapped his vast wings around you. He took care to not touch you with his metal band. Instinctively, you nuzzled into his fur, breathing in his scent.

"To the jungle, away from this cold place." He hissed at the word 'cold'. "How can anything grow in such cold… This is no place for pups to grow to a reasonable size."

He continued, this voice turned nostalgic, "You won't miss this freezing wasteland, florcita. The jungle is a paradise of color and sun. Our pup will grow big and strong —much like his father— with warmth on his wings and his belly, always full of the tastiest of birds, lizards and smaller, lesser mammals… and far, far away from the filth humans. They won't take us from our home again."

"I love you, Emidio," you moaned sleepily.